


Viva La Villainy

by Dyzzyah, Epithimia



Series: Primary and Secondary [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU within an AU, BDSM, Frankly this is getting ridiculous, Humanstuck, Kink, M/M, Superstuck, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyzzyah/pseuds/Dyzzyah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epithimia/pseuds/Epithimia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An original work by caligulasAquarium. Kirkos city is a hive of villains and cutthroats, and the Psionic, the new hero in town, thinks he can clean it up. Little does he realize that his run-ins with the dashing Dualscar, a god among thieves, will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -3 days

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction, written by one Eridan Ampora, on the trials and tribulations of the hero The Psionic and master criminal Dualscar.
> 
> Epi couldn't be here because she was facepalming so hard at the monstrosity we've created.
> 
> ...Seriously, what are we even doing anymore?

While many would choose an attribute to exemplify their talent, worth, or personality in such a case, the word Timothy Avalon would use to describe himself was unassuming. It might not have been the best choice of words, but it was certainly a true enough descriptor. He didn’t stand out of a crowd, he didn’t go out of his way to make himself known, and at the ripe old age of 22, he had decided that his talents were best served in the personality security business. 

He had been financially independent for nearly five years now; having graduated a year early from his high school and not had the funds, resources, or drive to do much else than seek a career. This wasn’t to say he was miserable with his hand in life. After all, not many were able to understand the mechanisms; the circuits and inner workings; the cogs and gears if you will, of most electronic devices.

His station in life was an electronics technician and repairman in a city called Kirkos. A hub when looked up in realty manuals for testimonial was described as metropolitan, advanced, expansive, and high class. The city itself was presented as a pavilion of opportunity; a chrome home for the intellectual, the modern working man and his family. This was what American civilization was building towards since the boom of machination.

However once the shining veneer of the posters and advertisements were chipped enough away, its true face smoldered dark and debauched with the stranglehold of The Empress’ reign. A mayor, a council, and a judiciary resided within white, marble walls; yet there was a queen of crime that drove the city to its highest potential. The word ‘city’ in said descriptor was really more of a formality given that the terms ‘shithole’ and ‘cesspool’ were oft muttered under breaths or screamed from the throats of youths in search of what they deemed better. What they believed they deserved.

It was a spring night teetering on the edge between frost and dew, fog heavy as a curtain draped about the city streets. The moon couldn’t hope to let its glow penetrate the haze; any scurrying pedestrians could only be guided by the streetlamps and any still buzzing neon signs in the shop windows. Timothy was one such pedestrian, becoming accustomed to the chill of nightfall and the maze-like structure of the city streets. 

He’d heard that many alleyways served as walkways for those who sought to escape the cold, but only at their own risk. He often heeded the warnings of Kirkos’ dark underbelly and as a result, had avoided any danger in the way of theft, injury, or worse. That was to say that up until that night, Timothy had never had a run-in with the undesirable. 

A clatter was heard from a block away; Timothy spun light on his feet in the direction of the noise. His heart plummeted. The complete silence that followed in the wake of the noise was unsettling. On guard, he continued his walk home. It was nearly 3 blocks later that shadows appeared at the edges of his vision; never a welcome sight.

He sped up his pace, pretending as though it was the cold he was escaping and not what he believed to be potential scavengers for the scant goods in his pockets. Soon enough, as he expected, a shadowed figure appeared at the end of the block before his apartment building. Clad in blue and black, he was a follower of a notorious villainess of these streets; Mindfang. He had heard of her exploits; the legions of people who had vanished off the streets by her hand. As expected, when he turned around, there were three more men who had been tracking him.

His blood ran cold. If they had had access to the same resources that she did, he couldn’t hope to leave with his free will intact. As the men began to close in on him, he withdrew a couple of silver-colored marbles from his pocket and threw them behind him, as expected; the simple-minded minions were distracted momentarily as a few red sparks jumped out from the point of impact on the ground. 

Timothy flew deftly between the break in their formation and down the street, just trying to get back to his place safely at this point. They had been anticipating an attack, some sort of offense from their prey, but for the moment, the most he could do was run. Soon enough he could hear the footsteps of his assailants pursuing him. 

Fuck! He hoped that he was far enough ahead to get inside his apartment.

Thankfully as it turned out he was.

He had yanked out his keys, unlocked the door, and held it shut as he locked it from the inside. He leaned against the door and caught his breath. Was it possible that his second life was seeping over into his primary? It was very possible. This was the first night he had been accosted in civilian garb.

He walked up two flights of stairs in order to reach his apartment. Upon entering, he went straight into his bedroom into the back of his closet. He disrobed from his jade jumpsuit from work and zipped himself into a tight, black uniform. He laced up his worn, but comfortable combat boots and put on a pair of heavy-duty gloves; one red and one blue, thickly insulated, but covered in a conductive membrane. 

He pulled on a pair of goggles, red and blue as well, which served to amplify his vision in the dark. On went his white labcoat. While Timothy Avalon hadn’t ever dealt with the likes of Mindfang, The Psionic had. 

He locked each of his doors and slid out onto his fire escape, the sound of a whip cracking nearby. Strange. He hadn’t heard a sound like that before. He climbed up further to the roof of the building and peered down into the street in front of his building. To his surprise, the men who had pursued him were lying unconscious at his doorstep. He ran, jumping to the next building, and then to the next, before speeding down the fire escape, off to hunt down the ringleader.

At the bottom of the fire escape, he ran, ducking through back alleys and poorly-lit streets, looking for some sign of Mindfang’s lackeys. With any luck, he would stumble upon some of her men performing a robbery or some such criminal endeavor, and they could in turn lead him to her. Worst-case scenario, he could stop some crimes.

Eventually he ended up in the Electronics district, all but abandoned at this hour. Here he made a wrong turn.

A very wrong turn.

The Psionic found himself face-to-face with eight shifty characters ransacking a shop. A quick appraisal told the Psionic all he needed to know; a bloodied body lay sprawled against a stock shelf, one man was emptying a cash register, another seemed to be looting a safe, and six more were loading top-end hardware into a van. 

His blood boiled at the sight before him. If he wanted to find where the Queen Spider laid in wait, he would have to allow himself to be captured. He took a breath and kicked a nearby garbage caan as loudly as he could.

Each of the felons whipped their heads to them. Four of those loading the van dropped their loads and advanced, menacingly. One coughed loudly, causing a distraction, and two others bum-rushed the Psionic.

Ignoring the distraction, The Psionic ducked back and socked the man on his right with all his strength. He wasted no time in turning and delivering another punch to the second man. Only momentarily stunned, the men staggered back.

The other two rushed forward, ready for blood, and the other four dropped their work and rushed to join them.

The Psionic inhaled sharply, throwing punches as accurately as he could manage, but becoming quickly overpowered by the mob.

The largest of them delivered a sharp slam to the back of the Psionic's head, stunning him briefly. He was loaded into the van and held down by two of the goons, as the stolen goods and injured thugs and injured thugs were dragged on board. "Back to hideout," said one to the driver, as another muttered, "I think I seen dis guy before. Dis the hero shit they been talkin' about on the news? Psionic or some shit? Mindfang'll be happy when she gets her hands on dis mug."

The Psionic made a show of struggling against the other men, but was secretly thrilled that he wasn't as injured as he could have been. And they were bringing him exactly where he needed to go.

\---

An arm was in the grip of two different minions who forced him to walk through the darkened streets until they reached their destination. The docks were the natural locale if one wanted to hide in plain sight. Carbon-copy buildings in rows slowly rusting in the dirty, brine-soaked air. If one were considered still the most silver of these buildings, it might be the one that The Psionic was currently situated before. 

As the doors parted, what was a low rumble became a rolling roar of voices and sound from within. Dozens, perhaps even a hundred people, all clad in blue were chattering and roaming the floors of the warehouse. Luxurious fabrics of navy and cerulean swaddled the walls, white lights buzzed in corners, but only snapped to full brightness when the hero was escorted inside and dropped before the mistress of this syndicate.

Spinneret Mindfang, the Marquise of Crime herself, sat upon her throne, attended by a dozen willing goons and scores of mind-controlled slaves. Her laughter pealed through the cavernous warehouse, bell-clear and bawdy, "Hahaha! What have we here, a little fly has fallen into my web?" 

She was a vision of blue and black, long boots and silk, only serving to accentuate the pale patches of thigh and neck and breast that lay bare. Her hair tumbled as a river, sleek and wild and as black as her soul, as she leaned forward, chin in he hand, to regard the captured hero. "What brings this tasty little fly before an army of spiders, then?"

The man behind The Psionic grumbled, "This fucker was off and causing trouble in our ranks in the Electronics district." The Psionic remained prone, staring up at the sharp-tongued woman speechlessly.

Mindfang waved her informant forward with an idle turn of her hand, "Trouble? This little shit?" She eyed the Psionic, lean and trapped and surrounded by her minions. He hardly looked like he could cause any kinks in her plans.

The young man rose an eyebrow as a spotlight popped on above him, casting shadows from his hair, the edges of his goggles, and the ridges of his coat. A chuckle rose from the hero, "Funny how you assume anything caught in your web is prey, Mindfang!"

"No? What, you just came to sign up, then? So much the better; you just got drafted! Hahahahahahahaha!" Mindfang raised her hands to her temples, focusing on the Psionic, sending the tendrils of her control into his mind.

Before the control could reach him, he let loose a burst of electricity from his hands, red and blue streaking from each glove respectively, jolting and knocking back each man who had held him still.

The men released him, stumbling backwards. One blinked and shook his head, looking around as if he had no understanding of where he was nor how he got there. He ran for the door, followed shortly by the other.

The Marquise was incensed, "How dare you? How? No matter, I'll get you this time!" She once more set to work, bending him to her will.

The Psionic looked back briefly at the men as they escaped, before his eyes were set upon her once again, "Over my dead body!" He lifted an arm and red lightning broke apart the spotlight above his head, leaving him in the dark as he ducked away from her sight, hiding in the shadows.

Mindfang screeched, "Find him! Get him! Make him pay!"

The horde began to shuffle, turning and looking around, as a handful of her willing goons ducked about and began to search the building properly.

The Psionic smirked in the shadows and jerked his right hand forward, her throne crumbling to pieces beneath her as she sat.

Mindfang fell atop the uncomfortable pile of rubble, "That little shit! Find him! Bring him to me and I'll grind his bones to dust and make cats' cradles of his intestines! And if he's very, _very_ lucky I'll kill him first!"

The Psionic laughed at her rage, broken down from prideful and arrogant to a screaming child in a matter of minutes. It occurred to him that he had made those two other men flee with his psionic lightning; if he managed to shock everyone in here, would her army dissipate? How could he possibly shock everyone at once? 

He then looked back at the screaming Mindfang. What if he just shocked her? He took a risk and slinked through the edges of the shadows until he was close enough to the stage upon which she was seated.

Mindfang raged, managing finally to extract herself from the rubble pile of her once beautiful throne. She was on her hands and knees, great tentacles of hair trailing on the floor behind her, blue-painted lips contorted as she cursed and ranted at her mind-locked minions.

Mindfang turned and spotted the Psionic. Her lips quirked up in a grin as she reached out with her mind, taking control of him.

His breath caught suddenly, a cold claw working its way up the back of his skull, numbing the inside of his head, causing his hands to shake and twitch uncontrollably. What-what was happening to him? He panted, glaring contemptuously up at the raven-haired witch as the life began to fade from his eyes.

Mindfang cackled, "Ha! Take that! Now, what will I do with you? Walk you off a building and watch you splatter across the pavement? Keep you as my personal slave? Find everyone else whose day you shat on and sell you to the highest bidder? Or maybe just make you fry out your own eyeballs...oh, decisions, decisions..."

As a last ditch effort, he lifted his twitching left hand up at her as he placed his right hand to the back of his neck and with a choked grunt, shocked himself as well as shot blue lightning straight at her exposed chest.

The air was no longer stale or thick in his lungs as he panted, sight coming back clear as he coughed.

Mindfang was knocked back by the blast, hitting her head on a chunk of her throne, and suddenly the room was filled with confused exclamations and drowsy-headed civilians. 

Mindfang's control had been broken by the blast, and a mob of former slaves made for the doors.

The Psionic made his way to his feet groggily, sight rendered askew by his free will suddenly returning to him at once, "Your army has sufficiently dwindled, hasn't it, spider queen?"

Mindfang rubbed the back of her head, and spat, "This isn't over, piece-of-shit lighting bug!" She drew a smoke flare from her pocket and broke it in two. Thick blue smoke billowed out, obscuring all.

The Psionic carelessly ran into the smoke in the hopes that he could catch her before she could escape, but found it was too late. By the time he had even gotten on the stage proper, the Marquise was gone. He was left standing alone on the upraised platform with not a sound in his ears but his own panting breath. He supposed this could qualify as a victory, if only for the fact that he had liberated what was probably a few dozen people from her mind control. 

With his left hand, he shot out a bolt of blue lightning, watching the pieces of the spotlight he had shattered reassemble before his eyes for his own amusement. He jumped back onto the floor and made his way to the entrance once more, out into the dark night.

If he had any word in it, heroics weren't dead.


	2. -1 day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Timothy Avalon and Aidan Lynch begin their days very differently on opposite ends of the city.

Much of the night had been uneventful once Mindfang had been thwarted. The Psionic made rounds throughout the city's looming shadows and found little lurking there than low-level teenage gang recruits who fled at the sight of him. All and all, a rather dull night illuminated by a single brief flash before flickering into nothing. He was almost disappointed to be back at his apartment before three in the morning. Timothy was awoken by a fluttering knock upon his apartment door. He knew very well who it was. He considered pretending to stay asleep, but that was neither polite nor acceptable, given it was company that he would rather like to have in spite of his unkempt appearance. He dragged himself out of his bed and thre the cover back over where he had lain before opening the front door.

"Morning sunshine!" Alice, Tim's girlfriend of six months and confidant of two sang out. She bustled her way into his apartment, shoved a box of muffins into his hands, and looked around. "Hmph. Out all night again, huh? Here, I'll make coffee and see if I can't tidy this place up."

He stumbled back only due to his half-awake state. He shook his head and sat at what functioned as his kitchen table. Given that said table often functioned as a work bench as well as where he took his meals, it was really more of a multi-faceted tool. He looked up at the girl who had made her way into his apartment and was flitting about from corner to corner.

Alice busied herself about, chattering on, "...and really, you have to be careful out there...not that I'm not proud or anything, but you have to watch out, there's some serious bad guys in this city! I mean, there's Mindfang, she's got a whole army of people working for her, and she's not the only crook with an army. Then there's that thief they keep not catching...I'm proud of you, Tim, but I don't want you to get hurt!" 

Timothy's cheek was pressed to the table as he stated bluntly, "Actually, that army is now more of a handful of hired goons."

Alice looked up from the coffee pot as she poured him a cup. "Well, good, but still! Promise me you'll be careful, okay?" She brought him a steaming mug and a bottle of honey, and sat down across from him. "Please?"

He sat up long enough to take a sip from the mug she had placed before him. A tired grin managed to worm its way across his angular face. Only one brown eye was open, “I dunno, you never know what lurks in these alleys at night.”

She put on a brave smile, though worry was clear in her eyes. "Well, you do, I know that much..."

"Alice, you don't understand. I moved here because I'd heard this place was this huge technological marvel; I'm staying because I believe I can make the streets safe." He closed his brown left eye and opened his right blue eye. Propping himself up on an elbow, "Besides, I was home before three last night, I'll have you know."

Alice sighed, standing up, "Okay, okay...I know there isn't anything I can do to stop you..." She walked behind Tim and leaned down, wrapping her arms over his shoulders and nuzzling his cheek. "All I can do is look out for you in my own little way. How's the coffee?"

"Dark as night, just how I like it." He tilted his head back to smile at her, "Good to know that coming by nearly every morning has made you aware of how I take it."

"Strong too." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, before going to the kitchen to wash his dishes from the previous night, calling behind her, "And a good thing, too; if you're going to be our city's one shining hope, then you've got your work cut out for you."

"All I can do is try." His cheek then hit the table again. He could not function in the morning.

Alice hummed as she finished up the dishes, and came back to tidy up around the table, picking up discarded gloves and bits of disassembled electronics. "What is all this stuff, anyway? Is this stuff for your, er, night job?"

"Sort of," He grinned to himself, "The Gemini Gift can only get me so far, you know?"

"Seems pretty handy, if you can take apart anything and put it back together again whenever you want." She laughed, "Heck, I'll never need a mechanic again!" 

He sat up and shrugged, "Well, it's got limits. Kind of unhelpful ones if I'm ever caught…I can’t do anything against insulators like glass or plastic, and if my wrists are forced together I can’t do anything at all."

“Why?”

Tim explained, with a yawn, “One hand can make things fly apart, one hand can put them back together. One hand is positive, one is negative. That’s the Gemini Gift; twin forces of creation and destruction. Force the two together and you get a zero sum.”

"Okay, but you can still, like, take the screws out of a chair and shoot them into a bad guy's face; maybe even skewer The Empress herself on her own trident if you got close enough, right?"

"The Empress? Who's that?" He looked confused for a moment, looking into his coffee cup and taking another drink.

Alice gave him a look, "Seriously, you've been living in this town for almost a year? The Empress is the biggest crime lord in this part of the country, and this is her main base of operations! If you wondered why this city is so corrupt, it's got a lot to do with her. City hall--no, the _whole freaking state_ \--kowtows to her out of fear, and people have been waiting for someone to bring her to justice. She runs almost all organized crime in this city, except for Mindfang's gang and a few outsiders too dumb or too good not to have been either killed or recruited by her."

"Well, shit. Guess I know who my big bad is." Timothy noticed the time on the clock above his stove and stood up with a yawn, "I need to get dressed."

"Okay, have a good day!" Alice gave him a peck on the cheek and left, saying as she left, "And be safe tonight, okay?"

"I'll do what I can." He gave her a wave and another grin over his shoulder to her.

When the door shut, he cracked his neck and went back into his bedroom, getting out his uniform. A jade-green jumpsuit for Intel Corp., the leading security company within Kirkos. He got dressed, picked up his toolbox from where he left it the night before, and made his way outside into the daylight. He winced at the bright sunlight, but simply ignored the sun by keeping his head down and only one eye open as he walked.

==>

Elsewhere in the city, Aidan Lynch, self-made billionaire and merchant of every sort, had completed his morning workout: stretching, cardio, weights, and a little shadowboxing for good measure. Now he treated himself to a long soak in his spacious marble tub as he spoke with one of his assistants over speakerphone.

“…And pull out of Lifetrain Fitness—I have a bad feeling about that one—and put that money into gold. You can’t go wrong with gold. Actually, cancel that. Put half of that money into my account, I’m feeling playful. Got all of that?”

“Yes, Mister Lynch, sir,” was the crackled response. “How playful, sir? Shall I see if there are any auctions upcoming that might spark your interest?”

“You know me well, Kate. Send me a breakdown on what’s coming up in classic automobiles; I’ve got a little space left in my garage. Oh, and Kate, I want them cherry, you got me?”

Aidan stretched his arm, a little sore from an incident a few nights back, and drained the tub. He stood and dried himself off, slipping into a silk dressing gown. “Also, I recently acquired several hundred rubies, all perfect pigeonblood and over a karat each. I’d like to turn them over quickly, think you can manage that?”

“I’ll get Alice on that straightaway, sir.”

“Good. Now, if you can find the time, I want you to do some research into pharmaceuticals, see what companies seem to be making good gains this year. Send me a report by tomorrow afternoon, and while we’re not on the subject, let’s have a report on the California estates, shall we? A dream last night told me to buy a few more, but I’d like to know my tenants are paying their rent before I throw down good money.”

“I can have that by evening, Mister Lynch, sir.”

“Keep calling me ‘sir’ and I’ll have to buy you something nice, Kate.”

“I know, sir,” came the amused response.

Aidan chuckled, walking to his bedroom. “Clever girl. I’m going to meditate for a while, but call me if anything comes up.”

Exchanged pleasantries, and Aidan ended the call. He shed his robe and regarded himself in the mirror, smirking and nodding his approval.

Aidan Lynch, owner and founder of Lynch Co., had and was everything. He was tall and muscular, strong of arm and swift of foot, with flexibility and grace. His tousled brown hair framed sharp features and enchanting violet eyes. His fine form was marred only by two scars on his shoulders and back.

As for what Aidan had? It was a poor descriptor to merely call him rich, for he had billions of dollars in accounts all over the world, to say nothing of his wealth in less liquid forms; he was the weaver of a fine latticework of cash and riches that spanned the globe. At the age of sixteen he had come to the financial world, a complete unknown with a few thousand dollars, and had put his brilliant mind to use and made a name for himself, a buyer and seller of all sorts. At nineteen he had founded his company, which in truth was little more than a network of errand-runners and record-keepers. Once an orphan boy who stole bread to live, he now stood in the mansion that he himself had designed and commissioned a few years prior.

He pulled on a pair of trousers and, shirtless and barefoot, he accessed a secret room, hidden behind a false wall. A button pressed, and an elevator accessed, and he descended to his vaults.

When the doors opened, a vast expanse awaited him, filled with treasures of every description, gold and silver and all manner of antiques; gems of every kind and rare coins from ages past, and every bit of it stolen.

Given time, Aidan would sell many of these by way of his legitimate trade, some he would merely keep because it pleased him to do so.

Near the entrance, draped on elegant coat-hooks, hung his favorite eveningwear. A fine purple coat, jerkin and leggings and boots, a plumed musketeer hat, and the crowning gem of his costume, a black masquerade half-mask crossed with two purple slashes; these were the vestments of none but the great thief Dualscar, possessed of unmatched stealth and skill.

In truth, Aidan Lynch was a lie. 

He was abandoned at birth, shuttled around from ward to foster to ward again, only to be abandoned to the streets at far too tender an age. He had learned early to steal, and he had found it suiting him. He had been pressed to labor by a mob and at sixteen he left their service and went into business for himself, with bloodied hands, laundered bills, and a name he stole from a graveyard because the sound was pleasing to him. Even his speech was a lie; a practiced and deliberate dialect that he used when conducting his daily business, a far cry from his natural brogue.

Falsehoods had also served him well, and furnished him with his vaults. He had told the construction crew that his dear great-uncle, last living relative and frothing survivalist, needed a bunker to suit for the inevitable decline of society, and Aidan had no heart to deny the sweet old lunatic. Ah, but alas! The week that the bunker was done, the poor old sod passed on! And so, in his grief, Aidan had the bunker sealed up, an unknown memorial to the ancient coot who, in fact, had never been. All who had any knowledge of the bunker’s existence either sealed themselves or knew those who did, and it had been a simple enough matter for Dualscar to remove the few feet of concrete and regain access.

He picked up his mask and stroked it, almost reverently, before setting it back upon the hook. He had gotten word of some ripe game coming into town this evening, but he would just have to wait for nightfall to make the prize his own.

Almost as an afterthought, he walked down one of the aisles, and opened a case. He grabbed the sack of rubies and its catalogue card; he had stolen them eight months prior, and Kate could find a buyer soon enough.

He walked back to the lift, his “meditation” done for the time being, assured that though this would be a fine day, a finer night awaited him.

\-------------------

(Comment as Guest)

arachnidsGrip: Hey Eridum8, so Tim’s that Sol guy, riiiiiiiight? When does the real action start? :::;) 

caligulasAquarium: oh my god vvris wwhat is wwrong wwith you this aint the place for it 

arachnidsGrip: [comment deleted] 

arachnidsGrip: Rude!!!!!!!!


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hero meets his nemesis.

Dualscar grinned to himself as he drew out his picks. Only one more lock stood between him and a fortune in flawless Tahitian black pearls, and this lock would be no more difficult than those he had already bested. The combination lock had been a joke, the thumb-scan had taken little more than a well-placed welding torch to get past, and the security team assigned to the hoard? 

Tranquilizer darts had assured a restful evening for all, until they awoke with their prize stolen. He kneeled, ear against the door as he worked the lock, his mask knocked slightly askew. He had dressed light, as his long coat and hat would only complicate matters, but but his leather boots were quiet, and, in trousers, belt, jerkin, and gloves, he sighed. Such a cutting figure he made, and none awake to see it, what a waste! Oh well, perhaps the pearls would sweeten his evening.

A streak of red light flashed past Dualscar's cheek, appearing from seemingly nowhere, "Halt!"

Dualscar swore quietly, reaching for his tranquelizer gun as he turned around. "An' who's tellin' me to do that, then?"

A slender silhouette clad only in a labcoat; a youthful male voice emerges from the approaching figure, his footfalls loud as though his shoes were not as light as Dualscar's, "The voice of logic and reason of Kirkos, I am The Psionic."

Dualscar kept his trusty gun behind his back, "An' what would logic an' reason be havin' with me? I got no quarrel with either. Your bein' here rather defies both, though."

"There is no one to stop the crime of this town but I," He crept closer, a hand raised in defense it seemed, "Who are you? You can't be working for The Empress or Mindfang..."

He drew himself up to his full height, glaring with a menacing sneer, "The name is Dualscar. Know it, an' fear it. An' it seems t'me that there's law an' order on the city's payroll, so what brings you, bargin' in on an independent agent like myself?"

"I'm here to bring you to justice, Dualscar!" The man (more boy, than man) spoke with such conviction, the name rolling off his tongue in such a reverent way in spite of his clear disdain for his actions. A beam of moonlight caught the edge of The Psionic's sharp jawline, his lips, and the goggles, poised over his eyes. Dark gloves jutted out from under his white sleeves, wiry legs in skintight fabric from beneath the coat.

Dualscar looked him over for a moment, grin widening, and he began to laugh, coarse and mocking. "Justice? Justice! Hahaha! Justice is nothin' more than an idealistic notion held by children. You mean to stop me? You there, shielded by nothin' more substantial than romantic ideals an' a silly coat?" 

He stepped towards the Psionic, leaving the shadow in favor of the moonlight, his arms bare from his shoulders down to the cuffs of his leather gloves. He leveled his gun at the Psionic with a malicious smirk, "An' I can't figure either a them will do you much good. Get lost, kid, 'fore I lay you to waste."

The gun, suddenly and without notice, was zapped painlessly from Dualscar's hand, landing in pieces halfway across the room, "It's over, you can't stop me."

He cocked an eyebrow, looking over the pieces of his favorite tranquilizer gun; he hadn't expected that. "So, the child has some bite to him, does he? Is that all you can do, or have you got some other little trick you think can stop me?"

"Well there's this." In his other hand, the gun came back to The Psionic reassembled. He aimed it at Dualscar's chest confidently.

Dualscar began to circle, speaking in an even, albeit mocking tone, "Now be careful with that, kid, you'll shoot your eye out.”

The Psionic followed his motions easily, not taking his eyes off of him, "Shoot THROUGH my goggles? Unlikely.”

He continued to circle, drawing ever closer, “Handy trick, though, an' I could use a guy like you. How about it, boy? You ever consider the fine, lucrative field a crime?"

The grip on the gun only tightened, “I'd never join someone so stupid or foolhardy, especially when his objective was city-wide domination and corruption!"

"An' what makes you so sure those are the same thing? The city is rottin' with corruption an' despair, boy, an' someone's got to make it right. Legal-wise, there ain't any way to do that, an' you yourself must agree,” Dualscar paused, lowering his head and his voice, “Vigiliantism is a crime, son. If you had any faith in the system you'd a joined it yourself, but no, you're here, levelin' my own gun at me, 'cause you don't believe the system any more'n I do. We both know it's already rotten. We both know there ain't no justice. Join me. I mean to make changes, changes even you would consider right an' honorable."

"I doubt anyone who has the mind to steal would ever have the same views as me. I would never steal to make my means worthwhile. I might be a vigilante, but I don't pretend to be a goddamn prince among thieves."

"They're all theives already!" Dualscar spat. "Theives an' liars an' fuckin' villians, an' you're protectin' 'em! You say you stand for justice, but all you're doin is ensurin' the blackmail an' board rooms an' bribery an' the bondage of the fuckin' people don't ever change. All I'm doin' is cuttin' into the profit margin a the villians, actual fuckin' villians, that lay in their cozy beds on the backs a the workin' man. You're their pawn, boy, an' you ain't got even the sight to see it."

"You can't possibly be doing this strictly for the benefits of the citizens! You have just as much greed and decit in your black heart, you monster."

"Greed? Greed I got," Dualscar admitted, now almost within arm's reach of the Psionic. "Greed I got aplenty, ain't no two ways about it...but I'm fuckin' honest about it. Now you? Either you ain't honest enough to admit the sins a those you're guardin' or you're so gullible that you're on the wrong side an don't even know it. But fact is?" 

He darted forward, grabbing the gun and yanking it out of the Psionic's hands. "Fact is, it don't fuckin' matter. Your sin is still your sin, an' you got no right preachin' to me about mine."

He turned the gun over in his hands, looking it over and sighing. "My poor baby, you're gonna need re-calibratin'..." He kissed the barrel, and put it in its holster, ignoring the Psionic, his posture deceptively easy and loose.

The leather of his gloves creaked briefly, a glimmer of sweat on his brow, "You filthy liar, you're trying to get my guard down. That was your plan all along, wasn't it? Trying to get me to sympathize with you and become YOUR pawn."

He turned, smirking, "Maybe so. A li'l time spent as my pawn, an' you'll cross the board to be as powerful as a queen. But no, I ain't lied a lick to you yet, an' you're foolish enough to think I have. Ain't it rude to be so mistrustin, Sparky?"

The Psionic slid back, his hand out before him, “Are these your mind games? Do you expect me to fall from your nefarious ways?”

Dualscar grinned, unhooking his preferred weapon from his belt. To hell with dogs, the cat o nine tails was a man's best friend. With a flick of his wrist, a sharp snap crackled through the air, causing The Psionic to jump at the loud sound. 

Dualscar brought the weapon up, lovingly caressing the tails. "It ain't me you gotta mind, Sparky. It's the Captain’s Daughter you'll be takin' your business up with. I ain't got the time to take my prize, but if you stand down, I'll be on my way."

The Psionic realized that such a confined space was difficult to fight in, especially if he had to take him down without causing harm to the surrounding area, "You're not going free on my watch, Dualscar." The way he said that name was never quite the same, its tones shifting up and down.

Dualscar chuckled, "You're too green, too new to this game, son. You ain't got the nerve to take me down proper, an' if I ain't leavin' free, then I ain't leavin' alive. I offer you one last chance to let this be, 'fore I force my way past you."

A crackle of electricity went through both sets of The Psionic's fingers, eyes glued onto the man before him, he wasn't budging.

Dualscar grinned, and lighting-fast, rushed forward, swinging the cat with malicious intent, aiming a blow to the Psionic's head.

The Psionic ducked back, but the blue lens of his goggles cracked with a stray barb. He came in close and pushed his right hand up against Dualscar's chest, unleashing a violent electric shock.

Dualscar grunted in pain as he was knocked back several paces, recovering and growling as he rushed forwards again, ducking down to sweep the Psionic's legs out from under him.

The Psionic jumped and narrowly avoided his assault, only by landing a few feet away on his side. He pulled himself to his feet quickly and tried to focus, the sight in one of his eyes compromised.

Dualscar was on him in a flash, with a punch to the solar plexus, followed by a roundhouse kick to the side of the head.

The Psionic caught the ankle and shocked Dualscar once again with a fierce scream. Dualscar laughed, glad to have worn his leather boots and gloves, as he wheeled around, kneeing the Psionic in the gut. "You'll need better tricks'n that, Sparky!"

The Psionic grabbed Dualscar's free leg and forced him on his back, barely able to keep himself up as he jerked himself back to his feet.

Dualscar rolled, tumbling back and to his feet, wearing his wicked grin, "You're fun, Sparky, I'll give you that. But my time is runnin' out, so I'm gonna have to end this one way or the other..." He pulled himself to his full height, twirling the cat in his hands, and he rushed forward, delivering a wicked blow to the Psionic's shoulder.

As the weapon left his shoulder, he grabbed onto it and tugged, delivering a shockwave through it powerful enough to snap off three lashes.

Dualscar, for the first time since the fight began in earnest, looked angry. Truly, honestly angry. He jerked back the weapon from the Psionic's hand, and spun around, delivering a sharp blow to the back of the Psionic's knee, the lashes wrapping around, as he quickly yanked, pulling his leg out from under him. Another fluid spin, and he deftly kicked the Psionic in the ribs, spitting on his face.

“Motherf-” The Psionic coughed, forcibly shaking. He then became disgusted beyond all reason, "You disgusting son of a bitch!"

Dualscar reached down, grabbing the Psionic by the lapel of his labcoat with one hand and pulling him up, as he traced the butt of his cat o nine tails along the Psionic's chin. "Me? You hurt my baby. Letin' you survive this encounter is nothin' short a saintly mercy on my part, but here's a tip for ya all the same: stay out a my way, or the Captain's Daughter'll take her payment in blood an' tears the next time we meet." His devilish smirk returned, as he growled in his ear, "Cross me again, an' I'll make you cry so sweet..."

He threw the Psionic back to the ground, and took to his heels, racing down the hall and out of sight.

The Psionic dropped to the ground, heart racing for many, many reasons; repulsion, fear, hatred, complete and utter disbelief and confusion, and the strangest twinge of adrenaline in his blood. Even still, it didn't justify in the slightest the saliva on his face.

As Dualscar made his daring escape, he mused briefly; he may not have won his prized pearls, and his favored weapon may have needed repair, but he had gained a new little nemesis, and despite everything, he was satisfied. Already he was planning his next big heist...


	4. 17 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight with Dualscar and a brush with the Empress.

Before a lash of the Captain's Daughter could snap at his cheek, The Psionic effortlessly ducked out of the way with a grin on his lips, "For a supposed veteran thief, you sure aren't subtle in any way, you know that?"

"Typical child," chuckled Dualscar, cracking the whip sharply and swinging another blow to the Psionic, aiming this time for his chest. "Hissin' little jeers an' yowls like a cornered kitten." 

It had been this way for nearly two weeks; The Psionic discovering the ins and outs of Dualscar's style of fighting. He had never encountered a villain so dexterous in their means of combat before.

Dualscar had not been idle over the last fortnight, either. He had done his research, learned all he could about Kirkos's only costumed vigilante. Fight in close enough to intimidate, close enough to lay lash to flesh, but be quick enough to avoid the hero's hands. Even with layers of leather and rubber to insulate him, an electric shot to the neck or face could still stun, not to mention sting like a son of a bitch, while a psionic shock to the chest or arm had the power to knock him back several paces.

The blow struck the hero's chest, but despite the pain, the Psionic caught a lash in his right hand, "Think you could stand to lose a few more lashes? I can turn this thing into a whip easily!"

"You itchin' for souvenirs, lad? I could a just given you an autograph." Dualscar tugged the cat of nine tails and surged forward, knocking the Psionic back and turning to side-kick the hero in the side.

The Psionic grunted and withdrew an inch, "I'm sure I can find some handwriting analysts who’d love your hancock.” He swung a punch at the villain, his fist connecting with Dualscar’s jaw, “Not nearly as much as I loved that, though."

Dualscar reeled back, staggering a little, a trickle of blood dribbling from his lip. He wiped his mouth and looked at the wet blood on his glove. "Wonder how well they'll like my script when they find it carved into your fuckin’ chest, Sparks," he sneered as he spat. 

He readied for another attack when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw dim lights illuminating a far wall; he recognized the pattern of distant flashlights approaching.

"Villainous-" The Psionic began, as he noticed that Dualscar had gone completely still in the wake of his blow. The Psionic smirked and whipped his left hand to the side, the blue bolt striking at the exposed flesh of Dualscar's throat.

"Shit!" Dualscar hissed, clutching his throat. He glanced back down the hallway; the lights were getting closer. He turned tail and ran away, holstering the Captain's Daughter.

The Psionic's eyebrows furrowed, "Oh no. You're not getting away from me this time!" He yelled after the villain and made pursuit, easily catching up to him. It was then that the lights that The Psionic had ignored were at the entrance to their private arena.

Dualscar winced; the noisy fool was going to get both of them killed! He turned a corner and analyzed his situation. One enclosed space, one loud-mouthed hero shit tailing him, an unknown number of The Empress's goons inside the building (on orders to secure the very artworks Dualscar had come to steal, no doubt); sealed windows lined the right wall, offices along the left.

Break a window and escape? Running in the open’s no good when the enemy has an unknown number of guns.

Hide in an office? No, the goons will be looking everywhere.

Take the stairs? Fuck no. 

Plus there’s the little matter of dealing with the loose-jawed moron, who’d spill everything before Her Highness could even bat an eyelash.

...When neither of two paths suits, take the third.

The villain sprinted and grabbed a hefty fire-extinguisher and smashed a window. He kicked out enough of the glass for a man to conceivably fit through, before turning around just in time to meet the Psionic.

The Psionic caught sight of Dualscar and effortlessly pulled the fire extinguisher from the man's hands with another blue bolt, cracking the floor tile with the force. His right hand pressed to the man's chest, another charge thrumming through his gloved palm.

Dualscar shuddered, grunting in pain as he staggered back. He quickly punched the Psionic in the stomach and clocked him in the side of the head, before grabbing the extinguisher and throwing it out the window. He grabbed both of the Psionic's wrists and pulled him into an open janitor's closet, wrestling both wrists into one hand and closing the door behind them with the other.

The Psionic struggled forcefully with as much strength as he could muster, hoping to be able to make something--anything--happen, but he was unable to make a single spark with his wrists so close together. He growled, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

Dualscar clamped his free hand over the hero's mouth, pressing him up against the wall. He eyed the door, and turned to whisper into the Psionic's ear, "Shut your face! The Empress's goons are about an' I ain't in the mood to get filleted."

Dualscar could feel how The Psionic was panting, even the faint rolls of his rapid pulse through his body. His eyes were wide behind his goggles, forehead creased in shock. Still his wrists twitched in his grasp, but he didn't fight the hold that the man had on him. 

"Do what I say, an' we just might make it out a this alive. No sparks, no light, no sound. Got that, kid?"

The hero nodded, eyes focused up on the man's face.

Dualscar smirked and drew his hand from the Psionic's face. He kept his hand clamped around the hero's wrists as they heard the heavy footsteps of a half-dozen advancing goons.

The Psionic licked his lips, head turned towards the door and eyes locked on the doorknob. What if they were discovered? He thought anxiously, his chest rose and fell rapidly, heart lurching painfully. 

He looked up at Dualscar; why was he still holding him? Because he's the villain, you dolt! Suddenly he tugged at his bound wrists and tensed his muscles with a silent scowl.

Dualscar shifted, holding the Psionic's wrists together in both hands. He had noticed that he hadn't managed a spark since he put the hero's wrists together...interesting. He listened as voices outside argued amongst themselves.

"Fuckers got away," said one. 

"There were two of ‘em. Keep looking just in case one’s still here," said another.

The Psionic remained completely still, pressing further into the wall behind him with his eyes shut. 

Right then, at that moment, Dualscar was victorious in making him obey his commands, and it itched at him. Dualscar smirked, watching the door. 

"There's a good boy," he whispered, "Just keep quiet as death itself, an' we may yet live to see the mornin' light. Thanks to my li'l stunt, they'll a assumed we went out the window. Just a quiet li'l waitin' game now..."

A chill like an autumn breeze rippled through the hero's skin, down his neck and back, at those words. No- at the rough, masculine voice in his ear; the firm, powerful hands holding him down, making him helpless. He failed to repress a grunt as he took in a gasp of air.

The heavy thuds of footsteps retreated, and soon Dualscar could only hear his own heartbeat and the short pants of his captive hero; he did not, however release his grip. His eyes remained glued to the broken stripe of light beneath the door.

There was no longer any danger from outside sources than the thief before him. Should he refuse to relinquish him... the young man had no idea what could be in store for him, with his wrists held together, there was no way he could even defend himself. The Psionic's voice broke the silence, as steady as he was able, "Let me go." 

Dualscar shoved the Psionic, "Shhh!" He jerked his head towards the door, a shadow shifting against crack of light. "One a them's still there, idiot," he whispered, his lips nearly brushing the Psionic's ear. "At least one. Now shut your gob, you impatient fool! You think you’re safe from her? Her Fuckin' Highness had it in for me for ages, an' you? There's a reason there ain't no livin’ heroes in Kirkos, an' she's it."

Close as he was to the hero, Dualscar could hear the low, barely repressed groan escape him. The Psionic turned his head away from the door; eyes shut once more, tense, and powerless.

Dualscar let go of his wrists only to clamp both hands on the hero's mouth. "I said stay silent, idiot!" His eyes flicked back to the door, as he pressed against the Psionic. He could easily feel the man's heat and smell the sweat of fight and fear.

The Psionic pushed his hands up against the wall behind him, trying with all his willpower to repress his powers. His body tensed beneath Dualscar's, glaring poisonously at the older man as if to accuse him of the same misdeed as he.

After a moment, a distant voice called out, and the shadow left, heavy boot-steps receding over a few moments. Dualscar gradually released the Psionic, hissing, "Fuck...she must a got what she came for if she's callin' the troops back."

The Psionic jerked back from Dualscar's hold, catching his breath as he looked toward the door and awaited silence. He cocked his head to look toward the other man, who seemed to be stared daggers at him. He mouthed the word, "What?" toward him, trying to not incur his wrath again.

Dualscar shook his head and thought. There was still time. He could intercept whoever was taking the artworks and take it for himself. All he had to do was lose the hero. He looked back as he put his hand to the door, "Go home, kid. You ruined my night already, an' all for naught. The treasure's been nipped anyway."

"Fuck! Where the hell is she?" The Psionic opened the door, not even acknowledging that this could be over yet.

“She's havin' tea before she makes off--where the fuck do you THINK she is? She's makin' her getaway! Like I said, go home. We're done here, an' ain't it school night?"

The Psionic grabbed Dualscar and slammed him up against the wall as hard as he was able, elbow pinned into his shoulder and his right hand around the man's throat, "Call me a kid one more time! I dare you!"

Dualscar grunted, dazed only slightly. His eyes narrowed, "This is a hero's gratitude? I saved your fuckin' life! If not for me, you'd be kippered but good; an' if not for you I'd be home already myself, safe an' sound with the knowledge I denied Her Highness a prime catch."

"Any theft is crime and I'd rather it be in neither of your hands." The hand on Dualscar's throat tightened for a second, "And I don't need your help."  
Every second that ticked by, the treasure was further from him. Dualscar thrashed, "Let me go, boy, I got matters to deal with an' we ain't sure they're all gone yet! Now let me loose before I get a mind to stretch you over my knee an' give you what's comin'!"

That was it. 

For a split second, The Psionic saw black, the hand about the man's throat glowing red before it sent electricity coursing through Dualscar’s body, sending him jerking and twitching. The hero unceremoniously dropped the unconscious thief onto the ground, unsure of how to deal with him. He thought for a moment that he heard distant footsteps…no time to worry, no time even to think. The Psionic abruptly turned, opened the door, and dropped out of the broken window, grabbing the edge of a power line before reaching the ground.

He looked back over his shoulder, thinking on the uncomfortably intimate closeness he had just shared with the wicked man. He twitched his fingers, allowing a quick dance of lightning to cascade through his fingers. Were he alone in that situation, he knew he would have spontaneously popped sparks here and there. With his hands together- PINNED together, no less, he wasn’t able to do a thing but wait still under the villain’s commands.

Had he discovered his weakness? If he had… well then that was just going to make their fights that much more challenging. The thought of being cornered and left at the man’s mercy was entirely too terrifying to bear. 

Terrifying and nothing else he told himself as the memory of that voice in his ear reemerged. 

His skin flushed hotly once more as he heard the sound of running footsteps nearby. Henchmen of The Empress? 

He then took off running to find out.


	5. 19 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance is gotten on two accounts, leaving The Psionic battered.

The Psionic had been out for nearly an hour on the streets, having heard during the daylight hours that The Empress had succeeded in her more recent heist. He had hoped to do what he could to bring any magenta lackeys to justice that he could find. He approached the warehouse he had been on that night, hoping to find any sort of hint as to where he could search. Instead, he heard the sound of a child’s simpering cries.

A small girl in a white dress and red shoes sat crying loudly. This was entirely too dangerous a place for her. He immediately walked to her and knelt, “Where are your parents?”  
She immediately quieted and tilted her head in an ominous, unworldly way; eyes dead and empty. 

Fuck.

The Psionic jumped up in time to be accosted by several men dressed in blue who proceeded to push him back into the door. Inside stood the Marquise of Crime, Spinneret Mindfang. She cackled and skipped ahead at the sight of the trapped hero, “Lovely to see the softhearted hero is back in my web once more!”

“You’d use a child to lure me toward you?” The Psionic growled. 

“There are no rules here on the streets, honeybee.”

He tried to lash out at the men surrounding him, but found he could not. 

Upon seeing his frustration, she took on a pseudo-sympathetic, childlike tone of voice, “Awww, can’t make the sparks happen? That’s what happens when you invite a lady inside, little hero…” 

She strolled over, stroking the side of his face with the back of her hand, “I never really leave.”

The Psionic cringed and tried to pull back from her silken touch, hissing and pulling, but found that his mind was hazing over as it had upon their first encounter. His heart thudded painfully, eyes widening behind those goggles as he tried to keep control over his senses. In spite of the sweat on his skin, his flesh froze, his blood chilled. Soon fog settled into his senses and his arms fell limp in the grasp of the men holding him.

“Don’t let him go, boys.” She pressed a finger up under his chin, stroking the pointed jawline as she began to walk. With no choice or will to refuse, he walked step by step after her, all too aware of the satiny touch of her gloved hand. 

Up several stairs they walked as she purred, “You’ve destroyed an entire hive of loyal servants to me, techie. You made me have to rebuild from scratch.” 

A lackey opened up the door that they had been walking toward and the group went through. They were back outside in the damp, dark air, “On the high seas if any form of disreputable behavior befell the crew of the ship, what do you think happened to them?”

She smirked, peering into those goggles as though expecting a response. She instead continued, “Can’t very well have a traitor among the crew, have to get rid of them, don’t we?”

She stood before the very edge of the top of the building, her lackeys remaining standing vigilant at the stairwell. 

“In my fucking city, there are no traitors, and there’s certainly no little shits who make my crew turn tail and run without my consent.” 

The Psionic found himself walking, taking one step at a time without his brain’s permission until he was at her side, even closer to the edge than she. His self-preservation instincts kicked in and he came to his senses, too late to keep him from taking that last step over the side of the building. All he heard was her laughter as he dropped. 

The movies never made falling look as terrifyingly fast as it happened to him; air rushing fast as sound through his body, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. He was plummeting and fast when he was finally able to breathe once again. Without thinking, a hand shot out and he magnetically drew himself towards some power lines as he fell. The electric cable he caught on the way down slowed his decent enough to be non-fatal, but it still left him fairly battered.

The Psionic ducked through an alleyway, lifting his rain-splashed goggles just for a second before dropping them back down. He had to get back to his hideout and now, he really couldn't afford to be spotted. His adrenaline kept him from feeling much of the pain his bones were feeling at that instant, but he didn’t want to be out there any longer.

All things considered, he’d had better evenings.

He found himself, running as fast as his feet would take him through the puddles, tail between his legs and in no such state to put up much of a fight. Even worse, the further he traversed into the alleyways, he had an itching sense he was being followed. He swallowed, hard; this night job really was going to be the end of him.

Not far away, a single figure ran, ducking and weaving through the alleys, as fast as his nimble leather-clad feet would take him, his soaked coat floating behind him like a cape. 

The master thief had damn near outrun death itself a few days prior when the Psionic, that battery-powered little shitstain, had left him for The Empress’s lads to find. He had come to just in the nick of time, thrown himself out the window, and dangled on the ledge by his very fingers until the building was clear, before making his own exit.

Now, Dualscar was easily avoiding a few of Mindfang’s minions, and a few well-meaning officers of the law as well. Surely they would not find him, but rage and frustration drove him to run faster than threat of capture ever could. He took a turn and skidded to a halt as he saw the labcoat...that god-damned labcoat. "You!" he bellowed, pointing towards the figure.

The Psionic froze for just a moment. He knew the voice well, but he looked back despite himself, before continuing to run with renewed speed, his heart practically beating out of his chest. 

He was going to fucking die.

Dualscar did not even loose his beloved Captain's Daughter, he did not waste time with threats, nor did he spare any wind for speeches, but he ran, every ounce of his energy, his rage, directed at catching the foolish hero and making him pay, one way or another.

The Psionic ducked into a tiny alcove, licking his lips and trying desperately to catch his breath.

Dualscar rounded a corner, looking this way and that. He knew these alleys well, he had hidden many times before, and he remembered the first place he would have thought to hide. 

"I know you're here, Sparky," he began, his breath ragged, his voice almost inhuman, an eerie echo along the corridors as he paced down the alley. "You know what you did. Five million dollars, an' you kept me from it, Psi. Not only did you keep me from a fuckin' fortune, you left me to die at The Empress’s hands…"

The Psionic tried to make the electricity build within him, tried to rub his hands together in vain, but in his panic he shocked himself, a crack of lightning stroking the wall across from the alcove, he tried to bolt, one last chance at escape.

Dualscar rushed forward, catching him easily, grabbing him by the tails of his coat and, with a good strong yank to the side, knocked him into a wall. He was on him in the blink of an eye, shoving the Psionic's chest to the wall, one hand had both of his wrists in his leather-and-rubber-lined grip, while the other was at the back of the Psionic's head, mashing his face against the concrete. "You got any notion how much you fucked things up for me? If any mercy saw me livin’ in the mornin’, it must a been God’s, because it sure weren’t yours."

Try as he might, The Psionic was unable to do a thing with his electricity, his wrists were together. He cried out before letting out a rough, miserable growl, his goggles pushing up against his eye from the pressure of the wall, "Let me go..."

"You. Left me. To. Die." Dualscar tightened his grip on the Psionic's wrists, growling right into his ear, "After I saved your fuckin LIFE! An' you expect me to just fuckin' LET you GO? Why, so you can fuck up things for me next time we meet? You didn' let me go, an' you honestly expect more mercy out a me than you'd ever give? An' you dare to call ME the VILLIAN?"

When the impact of those words hit him, he knew what would come next. He was just as merciless as Dualscar, and he was going to kill him. The Psionic was torn between giving in and fighting, but he was so tired, worn, and wrecked, his body was bruised underneath his uniform and there was nothing he could do to fight back. Dualscar could feel him physically wilt into the wall, slinking against the wall in grim resignation.

Dualscar began to laugh a dark, humorless laugh, "What's this? No lectures on truth, justice, an' the American way? No admonitions about my shameful behavior? No threats? Not even a good ol' fashioned 'You'll never get away with this, you fiend'? I'm almost disappointed..." He pulled his body away a step and threw the Psionic sideways to the ground. 

The hero limply fell, just barely catching himself on his forearms and rolling to his back before Dualscar fell upon him, pinning him. Dualscar supported himself with one arm, the other hand gripping the Psionic's throat. "You ain't got anythin' to say at all?"

Eyes shut and burning painfully behind those goggles, the Psionic reached up and tried pulling at that hand around his throat, "Y-You're... the villain..."

"An' you're a narrow-minded pain in my ass. You been more trouble to me than you been worth, an' I got a mind to change that..."

"You'll never get away with this, they'll know you killed me...!"

Dualscar threw back his head and laughed, "Oh, you poor boy...pain in the ass though you are, you still find ways t' amuse me." He leaned down, his eyes locked and mere inches away from those of the Psionic. "You ain't worth five million. But let's see if I can find a reason not to kill you." 

The young hero glowered up until he realized the man was leaning closer and closer, lips parted before they were quickly mashed up against his own. He pressed him against the pavement, straddling his hips. The Psionic's eyes slid shut as he was kissed so roughly, almost bruising his lips with the voracity of the kiss. 

The young man tasted of the salt of his frustration, bitter... with the slightest sweetness of pure honey.

Dualscar licked the Psionic's lips, pulling away slightly, his breath a steam in the cold, damp air, before diving back down, capturing his lower lip and sucking on it.

For the third time that night, The Psionic’s heart hammered madly, as though any second it would give out on him. He tilted his head back just slightly, a tiny little keen of pleasure choked out of him. Blood even began to pool lower in his body while he was at the wicked man's mercy.

Dualscar smirked in triumph. He sucked and bit down in the Psionic's lip, grinding his hips down against the pinned hero.

Static quickly jolted through him, his powers capable once more as his body recovered. However, the Psionic, without thinking, pushed his hips back up into the welcome pressure of Dualscar's body. His gloved hands still remained at his sides on the ground, unsure of what to do. Wait, he KNEW what to do, he knew he should be charging his power to strike. Right then he just didn't want to, he wanted more, more of that horrible man's touch on him, a deeper kiss, wanted to taste his tongue...!

Dualscar released the Psionic's lip, drawing his tongue across his lips, inviting the Psionic, as the grip around the hero's throat eased slightly. He was still pinned, but the hero could breathe more easily, at least.

He inhaled sharply, with just a slight squeak in his gasp, his tongue sliding and slick up against Dualscar's; needing to know his taste.

The villain grinned, flicking his tongue against the Psionic's, teasing him, inviting him into his own mouth. Although the thought had occurred to him to invade the Psionic's mouth with his tongue, even though the hero was a whimpering, mewling mess--the best kind of mess, the best kind of hero--he knew it unwise to trust his tongue to go past the teeth of his nemesis.

The Psionic had no such sense at that moment, simply needing to feel him. It was just humiliating how desperate he was, but... 

On the brink of what he thought was his execution came something completely carnal and unexpected, a desire he gave little note to except when alone in his bed. When the guilt didn’t tear at his higher brain functions and he gave into temptation. He surrendered in that moment and it was intoxicating.

Dualscar let the hero's tongue enter his mouth, trapping it with his lips and sucking on it, as he ground his hips down, rubbing his own clothed erection against The Psionic's counterpart.

The hero squirmed; he wasn't allowed to speak, wasn't allowed to use his words in any capacity, he was only able to moan softly against his nemesis' mouth, fingers digging into the dirt as his hips arched up wantonly against Dualscar, who ground himself down, releasing his tongue, pulling away, before leaning down and growling into his ear. "Well done, Sparky...you get to live another day."

The Psionic's mouth was almost up against Dualscar's ear as well, nowhere near coherent enough to formulate a clever response in the slightest. Instead, his moist lips accidentally bumped the shell of his ear, breathing lightly, rapidly into it.

Dualscar's eyes narrowed, and the hand around the Psionic's neck tightened, as he barked, "This is where you say 'Yes sir thank you sir,' you ungrateful fuck."

He let out the most delicious gasp, toes curling as he cried out, "Oh god thank you sir...!" 

He was disgusted by his own fear at that moment, but he could deal with the guilt later. He was able to inhale the scent of his nemesis; pleasantly fragrant and pulling him in.

"Good boy..." The Psionic was rewarded with another kiss, as Dualscar released his throat, instead roughly caressing the pinned hero's cheek.

Having never kissed a man before this night, the Psionic was overwhelmed by these foreign, but so very familiar sensations that accompanied the man's touch. It felt so wrong, but so intoxicating all at once. The hero's tongue slicked clumsily along Dualscar's lower lip with a groan.

Dualscar bit lightly on the hero's tongue, tugging softly with a low growl, as he rocked his hips, again rubbing his hardness against the hero's counterpart. Distantly, sirens could be heard through the rain, growing louder as they approached. Dualscar pulled away, hissing, "Fuck...always somethin', ain't it?"

The Psionic jerked his head up in the direction of the sirens; trying to catch his breath, uncomfortably overheated in his skintight suit. A moment later he felt the heat of the other man vanish completely. He jerked his head back around.

As quiet as a shadow, the villain was gone. The Psionic was left alone, with only the rain, the siren, and the fading warmth on his lips to keep him company.

What had he done? 

The Psionic pulled himself up as quickly as possible, holding his injured side with one hand as he ran back toward his apartment building. When he had reached his block, he ducked in between the buildings and leaned against the wet brick, touching his mouth with his free hand. He grit his teeth, chest tight and breath unstable. He'd kissed him back.

He could still taste him. 

And he wanted more.

\-------------------

(Comment as Guest)

arachnidsGrip: Hahahahahahahaha! You used my joke, dum8ass, I totally want cred8 for that!!!!!!!!

arachnidsGrip: When's the fucking going to 8egin???????? :::;)


	6. 20 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two men go about their day to day lives, and neither understands the significance.

Waking up was a painful experience that morning for Timothy Avalon. His back, shoulder and his right side were sore from the night previous. While not debilitating to breathe, it was definitely noticeable enough when he sat up. He went straight into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He had been worried that the side of his face would be bruised, but thankfully his fears were assuaged when he saw nothing was there but dark circles beneath his eyes. There was no evidence that anything had happened to him by not one, but two villains. 

He them remembered those rough, desperate kisses that had happened in the rain. His breath caught at the memory, a twist of heat forming in his lower half and a knot of pressure in his chest. He'd kissed a man in a way he defined as "desperately." He turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on his face, as though he could wash away all memory of the villain’s touch, wash away his craving to feel it again.

Oh damn, he'd even called him "sir"! 

Timothy growled at himself into his wet hands in secondhand humiliation. That was of course when there came a knock at his front door. The front door opened and Alice called out, “Tim? Tim, it’s me, are you here?”

“In here,” he called from the bathroom, as he toweled off his face and pulled on a shirt.

Alice smiled brightly as she peeked into the bathroom, a box of cinnamon buns in one hand. "Morning!" Her expression changed to one of worry as she touched his cheek, looking into his eyes, "Out all night again?"

He drew back nervously, giving a lopsided grin, "Not exactly. Just sort of got my ass handed to me is all."

He couldn't possibly tell her.

She took his hand, gently, pulling him into the table in the living room. "Oh no! But you got away, and that's the important thing! Do you need to call out today? I've got the day off, we can just stay inside and watch a movie or something. Here, sit down, I brought breakfast." She pulled out a couple of plates and served each of them a bun.

He picked up the bun and bit into it and spoke as he chewed, "I can't really afford to if I want to make rent but I might not really have a choice. I have one really important client today and then I'll come back and see you, we can do whatever you want."

Alice sat down and picked at her bun, "Oh? Who's the V.I.P.?"

Timothy shuffled through a stack of post-its on the edge of the table with his free hand and read the name, "Aidan Lynch. Apparently he's a huge deal."

"You're working for Mr. Lynch today?" she asked, looking up sharply and snickering. "Shame it wasn't yesterday instead! I was at the Lynch Mansion all day with inventory."

His eyebrows furrowed, "Inventory? What does he do?"

"Lynch Industries is basically Mr. Lynch buying and selling almost anything. Cars, gold, bonds, art, real estate, you name it. Remember when I had to go to Kansas a month ago? He had me checking out artisanal cheese futures. He's got his hands in EVERYTHING."

Timothy's eyes then widened, "And you work directly for this guy?"

Alice shook her head, "Nah, I'm just a mid-level fetch-girl. Mr. Lynch still gave me this really nice bracelet for Christmas, though. The one with all the emeralds on it? Yep. Last year, he gave my boss Kate a car for her five-year anniversary of becoming one of his personal assistants."

He blinked, expression unchanging, "You know he's probably corrupt as fuck, right?"

She shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not, but I've got full benefits, a great salary, and a company car."

"And that doesn't bother you?" His head cocked slightly in question.

"Compared to the dicks that are probably just as corrupt or worse but _don't_ treat their employees like people worth keeping?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "Not particularly, no."

Timothy knew better than to pursue this topic any further, "I'm sure he's a fine, upstanding kind of guy." He finished his cinnamon bun and stood up, cracking his neck. When he stood, the pain wasn't nearly as noticeable.

Alice finished her bun and put the plates in the sink. "Just don't piss him off, okay? He's also the kind who'll have a stern word with your supervisor if you screw up." She kissed his cheek and saw herself out, "Have a good one, see you after work!"

He gave a nervous grin, "See you then."

As if today couldn't get worse.

==>

Big did not describe it. That was much too general a word. Lavish was really more of a descriptor. Possibly even the dictionary definition of luxurious would come close to describe this place. This had to be a place owned by a high ranking member of the Mob or something because the kinds of people in homes like this were usually pretty sketchy. That or really old. Timothy climbed out of his van and quickly retrieved his toolbox from the side door. He walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell, cracking his neck as he waited.

The master of the house himself answered, an odd enough thing, but a man of his wealth might be allowed an idiosyncrasy or two, and Aidan Lynch, was nothing if not atypical. "I assume you're the security tech," he said, a statement rather than a question, standing in an expertly tailored suit and tennis shoes, hair carefully coiffed, and rings and bracelets each looking to have been recently polished. Meanwhile the foyer buzzed with activity, appearing to be under renovations. "You'll excuse the mess."

Timothy himself was in his work uniform, a jade-green jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a white t-shirt exposed at the chest. His dark brown hair was shaggy, but not terribly disheveled. He nodded in a friendly, business-like manner, "Yes, sir." While his carriage was rather relaxed, his eyes were focused on getting where he needed to go, "Not a problem at all."

Aidan led the young man--not a bad-looking one at that, perhaps a bit thin, but none too hard on the eyes--through to the security terminal. "Here. It's been sending alerts seemingly randomly, and I can't say if the renovations are mucking up the works."

Timothy licked over his teeth briefly as he leaned in to stare at a certain panel. His slender fingers darted over the controls as he sought out the most common problems first. He paused for a moment before moving to another menu, a few sets of screens, faster than any other security tech guy Aiden had brought in to see his system was able to before. He rapidly typed with a single hand, "Has the power been shut off at any point since the renovations have begun?"

"About three times so far, yeah. I’m told that they’re done with that, though," Aidan replied in his well-practiced voice, bereft of brogue. He noted the tech's fingers dancing across the screen; deft fingers, lightning-fast and with the grace of one who knew his business, even when presented with a unique set-up. When Aidan had had the security system installed, he had sprung for a custom specs, a one-of-a-kind security system, unlike any other the company had produced, and likely never would again. Several linked security measures for his in-office study, his personal safe, and even the wine cellar and garage, all in tandem with the twin systems for mansion itself and the surrounding grounds. Not that any of these could detect beyond the catacombs...for that, Aidan had employed his own methods.

The young man's expression grew more and more focused; his fingers slowing down as he encountered more things he wasn't used to finding. It was common enough up until a certain point. He noted how many vantage points were set up throughout the compound. He couldn't believe how many different sections were under surveillance. No wait, it made perfect sense given the obvious size of this place. He cocked his head back slightly at his current client; older, but not by much; what the hell could he possibly be hiding?  
Must've been huge. That wasn't his business though, the panels before him were. He looked back, settling upon a certain menu. He rattled off, "All right sir, I see you have two dual systems working together, the thing is that if the power goes off, its back-up power source isn't being accessed."

"So you can fix it?"

A business lackey bustled up, standing nervously behind Timothy, and Aidan nodded to him. "Sir, you wanted me to tell you when--" he began. Aidan interrupted, "Norton found a buyer for the Bentley, did she? Smart girl, she is. Have her send me the paperwork." The lackey nodded and scuttled off, and Aidan turned back to the young tech, "Sorry, the world of business doesn't stop for anything. You were saying you can fix it?"

Timothy rose an eyebrow as he looked up and accessed his thoughts, "It's not difficult, but you have to keep your system off until the electronics work in your home is finished. Your problem is that if the power goes off, only one system is aware it needs to go to back-up power. The other system needs to remain off until your renovations stop interfering with the power it accesses. This ordinarily isn't a problem with dual systems, but I've never seen anything like yours before, it's customized in such a way that it diverts power without relying on the same source." Timothy only barely stopped himself from completing that assessment with 'and it's seriously fishy as fuck.' He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head as he grinned, "Must be holdin' onto something big, huh?"

Smart lad, Aidan thought to himself. "True, but not right either. Diversification's the key, you see. In this house, I have holdings of all sorts, I buy and sell anything from gold to vintage wine to cars--that’s actually my mission statement--and I like a spot of redundancy in the works to make sure it's all safe as houses. Mind you, I only keep on the premises what amuses me. Here." He clapped his hands, and a manservant swept up, "Hobbes, get the gent a bottle a, hrm... Chateau Latour '61, I think, as a gift...provided he can fix us up and stop those blasted hourly alerts." The manservant bowed, taking his leave. 

Timothy managed to keep a grin on his face as he faced the older gentleman, "Like I said, it's not difficult, I just need to fix the back-up power access issues and, oh." He turned and squat down in order to get a small notebook from his bag, if only to escape his stare for a second and relax his face as his mind screamed out 'sketchy sketchy crazy motherfucker' in a mantra. "I need your codes so I can reset everything once it's actually fixed. I'd personally suggest you keep everything off until after your renovations are complete, but judging from your digs, I'd say you want to keep everything shut tight, right?"

With an easy smile and easier hand, Aidan scrawled down his codes. "Can't blame a fellow if he did, can you?" He noted the tension in the young man's back...many were impressed or intimidated by his wealth and holdings, but it was not unusual for someone to assume there was something beyond fishy going on. Occasionally an undercover narc, but more often just a curious theorist. More often than not, the persona of the eccentric businessman would dissuade them, or at least cease any truly meddlesome questions, but not always. "But you're the security professional here, so I'd follow your opinion. I don't suppose you'd want a once-over, see if you can suggest anything to tighten up around here?"

As Aiden wrote, Timothy shook his head, "I already went over everything out before checking out your power problem. Everything's about as tight as you can get before you start calling in the feds to lock everything up for you." He chuckled a bit, a youthful smile growing quickly before disappearing. He placed the codes down as he carefully went through the system and did what had to be done to get the backup power to work properly in the second system. Once that was complete, he took the codes and was able to blaze through resetting the system as fast as he had done his rudimentary check-up. He tore out the page that Aiden had written on and gave it back to him, "Should be all set."

Meanwhile the manservant returned with a small wooden box. "Ah, here we go," said Aidan, taking the box and waving off the underling. "And this is for you. Even if you’re not a drinking man, you may net a couple thou for it. Consider it my thanks."

Once again, Timothy looked like a flustered kid in how his eyes widened, "You can't be serious."

"Good work is to be rewarded, is it not?" he smiled, pushing the box into the tech's hands. "And anything that keeps the rest of my hoard safe--while ceasing the infernal hourly alarms as well, can't say I don't appreciate that--is good work, wouldn’t you say?" Aidan grinned the selfsame grin he'd long since perfected; all part of the game, really. He had built himself a reputation for random charity and acts of spontaneous goodwill, a calculated measure towards the persona of a brilliant yet good-natured and occasionally flighty financial mastermind. Thus it was that Aidan Lynch was well known both for his wealth and also his goodwill. 

Timothy grinned with a nod, "Thank you very much, sir. Really, this is just... I can't even explain it." It seemed ordinary small-talk was a challenge for the young man. He took the box and carried it with both hands while carrying his tools with only one. Somehow he managed as he made his way back to the front door.

Aidan turned, watching. "Hobbes! Help the man to his car, will you?" A young redheaded maid swept up, taking the tech's tools, as Aidan snapped his fingers, "Ah, didn't catch your name. Who am I calling if anything goes wrong?"

He turned quickly, seemingly surprised, "Oh, um, my name's Timothy Avalon." He searched his pockets quickly and pulled a card out of his pocket, a business card with the company's name, logo, as well as Timothy's name and his work extension and cellphone number, "Glad to be of service."

Aidan nodded, "Thanks again." He passed the card to yet another servant, "File this in case something comes up." He turned back to Timothy, "A bit late, but Aidan Lynch. Pleasure to have met you."

"Uh, yeah, you too." Awkward kid. Very. He gave a crooked smile and walked back to his van, starting it up and leaving. He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.  
And he had a really valuable bottle of wine in his possession. Thank God he was able to mostly keep his cool. He shut his eyes for a second and took another breath. This fucking city.


	7. 24 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proposition is made on a rooftop.

Ahh, diamonds...lovely, valuable, stolen diamonds, bundled up snug and safe in a leather satchel strapped across Dualscar's back and under his coat. The victorious villain himself climbed to the roof, intent on an easy escape. 

So far, nothing had stood in his way that couldn't be handled. Six guards lay sleeping away their shifts, thanks to his favorite tranquilizer darts, each plumed with the same royal that he wore on his coat and streaked across his mask. The security cameras had all been tapped into and fed loops of their own footage of two hours earlier, and the infrared and heat sensors had all been shot with a quick-fixing polymer solution fired by a remotely controlled drone; Dualscar was particularly proud of that little bit of ingenuity. 

As the cool night air washed across his face, he grinned. Surely the diamonds would fetch a fine price, saved away until the heat was off, then sold off, gem by gem, a mere handful every few months, through legal channels, just like any of his other goods. Meanwhile, they would be a welcome addition to his little hall of trophies, hidden beneath the city.

As Dualscar stepped down onto the main partition of the roof, three wires, each weighted with a thick metal ball launched and then tightened around his right ankle and calf. Each ball wasn't large, no larger than what could fit in a palm, but where impossibly heavy. There was no sight of whoever set the trap, but the sheer amount of metal involved was enough to give Dualscar a hint as to who must have been behind it.

"I'm guessin' you ain't here to sell me girl scout cookies, Sparky," he called out, testing the wires with his ankle. He couldn't simply pull his leg free, no. No matter, that would have been too easy, anyway. 

In the dark, The Psionic ground his teeth, not revealing himself yet. He jerked his hand back, causing the metal balls to tug back, causing Dualscar to lose his balance.

He fell, landing on his side, instincts protecting the precious cargo on his back, even though the diamonds would be safe enough. As he fell, the wires slacked almost enough for him to squirm his ankle free. "I know it's you, Sparky, nobody has quite your way with metal, nor quite your knack for gettin' in my way."

At was at this point that The Psionic jumped out of the dark, eyes practically black before he willed the metal to anchor Dualscar's ankle to the ground, "And you're the only thief I know who uses the same tricks over and over to get their goods. I'm surprised the city hasn't issued some antidote to your tranquilizers yet."

"It's an ol' family recipe. Hard to replicate, harder to counteract, an' assures a pleasant night's sleep, just like mam used to make," Dualscar sneered up at The Psionic, "Ain't you bothered takin' a night off? It's a school night, son." 

“Your patterns are getting predictable and no one else has the resources to stop you. Besides, justice never sleeps." Somehow he was able to say that with a straight face, "Now where are the diamonds?"

"Never sleeps, eh? No wonder you got goggles, then, considerin' how deep the bags a your eyes must be gettin'. As for the shiny lovelies...you'll have to come an' find 'em, Sparky. Might I recommend a strip search? More fun than simply askin', or wouldn' you say so?"

The Psionic's eyes widened and his face flushed before his expression hardened once more before he edged closer, avoiding Dualscar's left side in an effort to access his debilitated side unharmed. His eyes narrowed as he examined him from a mere yard away.

Dualscar rolled to his back, watching The Psionic, smirking, as he sat up as best he could, with his leg pinned. "You scared, boy? But a what, I wonder? You scared I might hurt you? You scared I might hurt you an' you'll want more?"

The Psionic visibly swallowed, grinding his teeth as he looked over Dualscar's body, still estimating where the diamonds could be hidden... but also remembering the heat and pressure of him on top of him, of that kiss not so long ago. He growled and cast a bolt of lightning out, striking Dualscar's cheek, charring the collar of his coat.

"Tch!" Dualscar winced, touching his cheek gently, the smoke from his collar mixing with the scent of his own burnt flesh. "Takin' pot-shots at a prone prisoner now? You, who tout justice like you're the only one what got a right to say the word, find this fair an' equitable treatment for a measly thief?"

That was the final straw, The Psionic stalked forward and punched Dualscar in the center of his chest, "You are no mere thief and you damn well know it, you bastard. Tricking and toying with my mind, manipulating me, you're a demon in disguise!" He seemed afraid to get too close to the man, prone as he was on his knees.

Dualscar had the wind knocked out of him, and he would bruise well by morning. Shit. "Trickin' an' toyin'? My words ain't got no more power'n the truth they carry, lad," he spat, testing his ankle again, hoping that an emotional Psionic would have a lesser hold on the bolo around his leg. "Unlike you, Sparky, I got no powers. My words ain't got no sway on 'em, an' there's no manipulation goin' on that can't be done by any average human you'd find on the street. I can't make your mind do anythin' you don't want it to, so any action or reaction is strictly on you."

As he spoke, The Psionic went behind Dualscar's prone form, not daring to touch him. As his speech drew to a close, his focus wavered, causing the bond on his ankle to loosen just slightly. At that moment The Psionic had begun to cut through the back of Dualscar's coat, inches already burned through from the top.  
It wasn't much, but it was enough. One strap of the diamond satchel was all The Psionic could see, before Dualscar had managed to slip his leg out of his bonds and spun around, delivering a kick to one of The Psionic's wrists.

The Psionic cried out and growled openly, delivering a shock to the inner part of Dualscar's leg with that same hand he just kicked.

Dualscar grunted, wincing in pain as he rolled to the side and away, into the darkness, landing himself in a crouched position, favoring the burned leg. "I'll give you this, it was a clever trick with the bolo, but you'll have to come up with somethin' more useful next time."

The Psionic ran after him, managing to find him in spite of the dark and grabbing him by the lapels of his coat with both hands, "Tell me where the diamonds are or I'll be sure there IS no next time."

Dualscar was pulled up, harshly, looking The Psionic square in the goggles. He smirked that asshole smirk of his, one hand sneaking to his belt, "You sure you wouldn' rather the strip search? Though save the coat this time, it's a bitch to sew back up..."

With a flick, the Captain's Daughter was freed from its loop on Dualscar's belt, and he struck lightning-fast to the inside of one of The Psionic's knees, breaking free as The Psionic loosened his grip from shock and pain.

Completely caught off guard, The Psionic dropped to his knees with a hiss and a cry. One hand supported his weight from the ground while the other let loose another bolt that struck Dualscar haphazardly across his midsection.

Dualscar doubled over...shit. What a night to forget his heavier insulating layers... He rolled to the side before another bolt could hit, then lunged towards The Psionic, knocking him over and clamping his wrists together. "What now, boy? I got you cornered, an' you're all mine now."

The Psionic tried in vain to summon forth any electricity, any power, anything at all, but found himself completely trapped. He let out a pathetic growl that meshed with something that sounded like a whimper, "Oh god dammit no..." He shut his eyes and jerked his head away, chest rising and falling rapidly as what Dualscar could see of his neck and face flushed.

Ahh, mayhaps a cache of diamonds would not be the only pleasure to take from this evening's outing...Dualscar licked his lips, murmuring into The Psionic's ear, "You makin' this easy for me, Sparky? You challengin' me just to be a tease, is that it? Or is that honestly all you got an' you ain't got what it takes to defeat me proper an' take your spoils?"

The feel of his breath in his ear, the sound of that voice so, so close, just his use of the word 'tease' made The Psionic tense up and deeply bite the inside of his lip. His arms jerked still, but not nearly as vigorously as before, his strength giving out to the physically stronger man on top of him. 

Dualscar shifted his weight, pressing down on The Psionic's wrists, freeing one of his own hands to pull forth a leather strap, which he then used to bind The Psionic's wrists together. "Takin' your bite away, but I'm sure you got plenty a poison to spit at me. You gonna tell me how cruel I am? How wretched I must be, that I live this way? Try an' fit in one last speech, 'cause fuck all if you're goin' to throw yourself on my mercy? Or will you open your eyes an’ manage to surprise me? Well, Sparky? What you got to say?"

This was wrong, so fucking wrong; The Psionic couldn't even think straight as his power was taken from him. A searing heat burned through his flesh, seeping deep within and trying to melt through his tension as he gradually fixed his hazy eyes up at the villain above him. His voice was a low, rough sound as though he was running out of air, "Really? You expect me to talk?"

"I expect you to make my evenin' more entertainin', Sparky..." Dualscar growled, deep and low, as he held the Psionic down. With the hero's wrists properly bound, Dualscar could easily just stand and race off, but with a captive little treat, well, why not have some fun? "You been pain enough in my side...you apt to entertain me, or shall I take my amusement from you?"

There was no way he was going to actually going to... no he was his enemy, he would more likely knock him out and throw him off the building. Jesus, but he had had enough of being pushed off buildings for one week… The Psionic tried to inch away as best as he could, but found himself practically panting, wide eyes visible through his goggles. He was such an easy target, especially with his wrists bound in leather; one of the few materials his powers held no sway over, "Vile fucking fiend..."

Ah yes, the clichés, here they come. Heroes...always so narrow-minded in their thinking. Lazy thinking, honestly. "Yes, yes, we been over this. At least you could offer me a new monologue about your precious concepts a justice an' shit." Dualscar shifted slightly, one knee wedged neatly between the Psionic's legs, both arms pinning him to the rooftop, "They can't save you, lad. Nothin' can, save my good graces. Your life could all be forfeit accordin' to my whimsy, Sparks, an' my whimsy ain't feelin’ too whimsical right now. Now, let's try this again...what you got to say for yourself?"

The Psionic had only one chance; to bluff, "You wouldn't harm me, this is all a fucking game to you! What's a game without a challenge? All claiming that you're the lesser of the evils of the city? HAH!" His laugh was a bitter cry as still his hips inched back away from Dualscar as best as he could as his eyes burned, "You kill me and you really are just a monster and a murderer, just like I've always known."

"Do you think before you open your mouth, or do words just sort a happen?" Dualscar shook his head. Fucking naive heroes. "Murder ain't my MO, Psi, I happen t'find it distasteful, as you might a noticed from the little nap our waged friends downstairs are takin'...but don't think for a moment I can't decommission you faster'n guttin' sturgeon. However, if it's so fuckin' valuable for you to be right, maybe I could see my way clear to provin' you so..."

The Psionic was honestly curious and confused now, if he wasn't going to kill him... "Then what the hell could you possibly do to 'decommission' me if you wouldn't kill me then? Hmm?"

Dualscar's eyes narrowed, his grin wicked, "I could break your body, an' never fear you chasin' me again; I could break your will so bad you never step outside a your house again; I could take your identity, an' show it to the world, an' let you fret yourself on those that wouldn' find murder so sour in the mouth as I...with a li'l time an' effort, I could even pinch your freedom, just lift it off you like a pretty li'l stone, an' keep it for my own..." 

He advanced, re-taking the few inches of distance the Psionic had managed to gain with his nervous squirming, pinning him down, and ghosting his lips over the Psionic's, "Or I can make it so, the next li'l altercation of ours? Apprehendin' me is the last thing you think on doin'." He let his tongue flick against the hero's lips. 

The Psionic worked to appear fearless in the face of his threats, though he found himself shaking, but why? He didn't believe Dualscar had those capabilities, but still he found himself overheated, pinned down once more. 

As that mouth teased his, his eyes stayed open as much as he was able, tilting his head just so that their lips rubbed, "You have no idea who I am..." His tongue flicked out as well, enough for a quick tease before locking their gazes once more.

"I'm just a yank on your goggles from findin' out, now aren't I?"

Dualscar left him a moment to fret, simply enjoying the hero’s rising panic.

The Psionic’s unseen eyes widened, as a cold sweat broke out and his heart thundered in his chest. Damn. His bluff was called. 

His blood ran cold, his breath increased. He was about to counter, opening his mouth again but as the first sound came out, Dualscar’s mouth descended upon his, causing the confident argument to fade into a wordless, soft grunt in his throat. His eyes slid shut for just a second, almost swooning at the firm, plush feel of them.

A quick bite to the lip, sharp but not enough to break the skin, and a slow lap across the offended skin. Dualscar weighed down on The Psionic, his thigh pressed to the hero's crotch.

A series of soft, escalating sounds emerged from the The Psionic until finally his back arched, hips pushing up helplessly into the pressure upon him. Dualscar could feel how the younger man's cock was already half hard from such teasing. The Psionic pulled at his restraints once more, the sound of creaking leather simply background noise as he parted his lips, tongue thrusting out to meet his enemy's.

He was rewarded with Dualscar's tongue, meeting briefly before Dualscar took The Psionic's tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it forcefully. His thigh rubbed against the hero's cock, as Dualscar's hands still held him down by the shoulders.

The Psionic leaned his head back, offering his obedience as he was ravaged with Dualscar's mouth. It was humiliating, it was so degrading, but he just couldn't stop himself; it felt good in an incredibly wrong way. The same way it had felt when he first donned the goggles, how that first rush of power went through his veins and hands; familiar and alien at once, as though it had always waited in wait until he needed it. 

He was so aroused, all the chatter in his brain faded into background static and he let himself enjoy his nemesis for a moment.

Dualscar released The Psionic's tongue, only to drag his lips down the hero's neck. One hand worked down, beginning to trace along the aroused lump in the hero's costume.

The Psionic jerked his thighs further apart, body shaking under Dualscar's touch, he turned his head away from his wandering mouth, giving him access to the little exposed flesh of his throat that his costume offered, "Aah, ah! D-D..." His gasps were delicious.

Dualscar drank in the hero's pleasure and anguish, his tongue set to work on The Psionic's neck, as he stroked the protruding bulge in the Psionic's costume. He pulled his lips away from the wet round he had been making with his tongue, "Out with it."

As he was stroked, he pushed his hips up and let them linger under his hand, finally choking out the name he had held back from his lips, "Dualscar!" Just as he had always noticed, the younger man always seemed to have different inflections to the name he knew and feared. 

"Aye, I am...an' it seems I left a mark on your soul already, Psi. Only fittin' I gift you with another..." He leaned down, continuing to stroke the hero, and gently set his lips back to the Psionic's neck, beginning to suck a bright bruise on his skin.

His slender body shook, biting down on his lips and trying to hold back any further whimpers and cries he had just been carelessly spilling out. Sweat formed upon his brow, beads spilling sideways down his forehead. 

His attention focused on those lips, the hand mercilessly teasing him; why? Why, why, why was he doing this to him? Truly this was the most awful torture, worse than the threat of death was the threat of pure euphoria at the hand of a wicked soul...

Satisfied that the bruise would linger, Dualscar bit down lightly on the Psionic's neck. He raised his lips to just beside the Psionic's ear, "Shame, really. You happened to get yourself stuck with such a cruel man...powerful shame."

The young man was too far gone, instead giving a soft moan at the touch of those lips so close to his ear again. He turned his head quickly and let his tongue run up the edge of Dualscar's jaw, nipping lightly with his uneven teeth.

Dualscar grinned, rewarding the Psionic to another little peck to the side of the jaw. "Such a cruel man, do you know what I'm goin' to do to you, Sparky?"

The Psionic shook his head dizzily, biting his own lip.

Dualscar chuckled, purring into the Psionic's ear, "I'm goin' to let you be is what. But I will have you know this, Sparky...you want more? You can have it, so long as you don't get in my way next time. Think on it." 

And with that, he pulled away, dashing along the rooftop, jumping onto the next, leaving only the leather strap on the Psionic's wrists, the sound of his laughter fading into the distance, and the aching damp lump in the hero's costume to remember him by.

The Psionic somehow managed to pull himself upright just as Dualscar had made it to the edge of the rooftop, screaming his name after him, his thighs pressed together just so. He could still smell him, still taste him. His neck and face were aflame in the cool night air, lusting desperately as he was left alone.

Dualscar ran, free as the night itself, satisfied with the evening's take. A sack of diamonds, an all-around pleasant row with his nemesis, and the pleasant sounds of the enraged roar and the quiet pant of his name both issued from the same lips in one night. 

Back at the lair, Dualscar would stroke himself to the memory of the hero, bound and furious and helpless and wanting; then he would unwrap his diamonds and heap them in a sparkling pile, and if truth be told, he could not say which was the finer prize.

But for now? For now Dualscar simply ran.


	8. 28 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Psionic takes his nemesis up on his offer for his body in exchange for a theft.

The air hung heavy with mist, the scent of rain pervading his senses. The normally calming smell did nothing to ease him on this night. Intel had led him to believe that this was where Dualscar would be. Small building tucked away on a back street; fences with gates, the kind of place that tried to appear both secure and pretty all at once. As if to say "nothing to see here, please move along." 

Seemed easy.

Too easy. 

It was then that he heard the telltale screech of an alarm; shrill bells shattering the silence and spiking his pulse all at once. Surely it must have been deafening within, but he awaited in the abundant, liquid shadows across the street. He ducked back, out of sight, just continuing to breathe in and out as his eyes remained locked on the door.

Fuck. Dualscar sprinted for the exit, the thick smoke of one of Mindfang's traps billowing out behind him. He cursed her bones and breath; she had taken his latest prize...of course she would! A collection of antique blunderbusses...he knew she would make a move, but she beat him to the punch this time, and left him a little gift. 

Eyes were prepared for the usual violets he was used to finding on these excursions. However, it was a figure clad all in blue with a satchel that made its way out and scaling the fence without issue. Mindfang?! She was the perpetrator!? He jerked his head out of the shadows, neck and muscles tense with rage, he could catch her! He could catch her so, so easily! 

He bolted out as her back was turned, she wasn't even aware of his presence as he contemplated his method of attack.

Dualscar barreled out after her, howling his hatred as he reached the exit. "Mindfang! You set me up! I’ll have your head yet, you fuckin’ bitch!" As he reached the night air, he spied a familiar figure...shit, another complication. To stay and fight his nemesis, or to go after the wench that stole his take? A conundrum, with little time to decide.

At the very familiar voice The Psionic stopped in his tracks, heart dropping as his breath caught in his chest. He spun and spied his nemesis, remaining still for just a moment before making his way back over to him, walking purposefully; shoulders back with darkness in his eyes, hands at his sides, "Dualscar."

Dualscar eyed the Psionic, standing his ground, thick blue smoke behind him. He had left his coat at home, but still was intimidating in the rest of his costume. He thumbed one of the lashes on the Captain's Daughter. "Fancy meetin’ you here, boy. You come to complicate my evenin’ further?"

When he was but a few feet away, The Psionic leaned his head back and stated firmly, "No." 

He grabbed Dualscar by the back of his neck and pulled him down to his mouth in a hungry kiss. His lips were open and eager, mouth tasting of tea, honey, and the blackest lust imaginable as he moaned lowly into the older man's mouth.

Dualscar was surprised in the pleasantest of ways, as he met the Psionic's lips, meeting his ferocity in no time, one hand in the Psionic's hair, and the other neatly beneath his lab coat, roughly grabbing the hero's ass. He growled, pushing the hero backwards, pressing face and chest and hips to him, until the hero's back hit the nearest wall.

Offering no resistance, The Psionic arched his body up into Dualscar's, the points of pressure of his hips were as noticeable as the first stirrings of an erection beneath the tight fabric of the young hero's costume. He wrapped his free arm around Dualscar's neck as the other gripped his hair even tighter. Yes, oh god yes this felt so incredibly, deliciously wrong and he needed more... his tongue teased at the older man's upper lip before nipping lightly with his teeth.

Dualscar retaliated by biting and tugging the Psionic's lower lip, keeping it captive between his teeth as he ground his hips against the hero's. More aroused, he had to make him needier...he clenched his hand around the back of the Psionic's neck, fingers digging in just at the base.

The impatience and roughness of his actions were stimulating The Psionic's body, static thrumming easily through his veins and making his skin desperate for touch. His breath came quicker against Dualscar's mouth, voice lilting up just slightly as he became more and more excited, growing harder in spite of their location, how impossible release would possibly be here.

Dualscar released the hero's lip, licking a streak across the indents left by his bottom teeth. He pulled away, just lightly. As their lips parted, The Psionic made a low purr of pleasure, a musical little sound that the villain had never heard out of him yet. 

"Not here. Come with me." The far-off sound of sirens could be heard, coming closer, "Unless you want me fuckin’ you in full view a the city's finest, that is."

A light jolt of static sprouted from one of the young man's hands as his eyes widened, eyebrows raised, "Just, just fucking come on."

Dualscar laughed, taking to his heels. He raced through the alleys of the city, of HIS city, ducking along the darkest side-streets, weaving through the corners and the turns and the filth. His city, and he knew it blind. He let his feet carry him, ears sharpened for the sound of the Psionic behind him, and he considered potential venues for this delightful rendezvous. 

The docks? No, save that for a night when it wasn't already raining. 

Not the park, too cliche. 

A roof? Hah, a pleasant option, but it wouldn't do to overuse it...still, a rain-soaked Psionic, shivering with need, his wet body glistening...

Dualscar laughed, taking new speed as he ran westwards.

The young man followed easily, given his light frame it was no surprise how incredibly fast and nimble he was. At the sound of the man's laugh, he ran faster, thoughts beating at the back of his mind; he said... he did say it, didn't he? He said he was going to fuck him? He couldn't believe how his life had taken such a dramatically twisted turn in such a short time.

Fate wasn't to blame though, he had chosen each of this path on his own. Sealed it with a kiss.

At long last, Dualscar spied his destination, an old abandoned warehouse, half the windows broken, the other half dusted over with age. He reached the fire escape, and shimmied up, calling to his pursuant, "This way lad, an’ I'll have you all to myself."

The Psionic stared up, swallowing anxiously. He followed easily, nearly as fast as Dualscar had; rather impressive considering he had never been here and didn't know the way. Soon they stood beside the other.

Dualscar took the Psionic by the shoulders, "Good boy, an’ now for your reward..."

He roughly shoved the Psionic through a busted-out set of windows, large enough for two men to pass through, letting him land on the cold tile floor of the third level, rain still pooling beneath the open broken panes. The Psionic cried out as he was pushed, rolling at the last moment on the floor so he wasn't injured past another slight bruise on his shoulder. Dualscar jumped through on top of the Psionic, pinning him down even as the hero tried to catch his breath, water dribbling from the villain’s hair onto the Psionic's face.

The young man glowered up furiously, cheeks pink, "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"More’n you know, Sparky. I ain't in my mind presently, because right now, it's all my body. An’ my body is calling out for yours..." He leaned down, licking beneath the Psionic's jaw.

The Psionic exhaled softly, exposing more of his white throat; a stark contrast against the black of his costume. His hands clenched tightly into themselves as he felt himself harden at those words.

Dualscar straddled the Psionic, grinding his hips--and stiffening member--down on him, allowing him to feel his own growing arousal, as he worked his fingers under the shoulders of the hero's lab coat, tracing his deltoids, working his hands down across the broad of his pectorals. "Now, do I let you undress like a civil sort, or do I tear this pretty piece a cloth that's gettin' in my way, and let you walk home with your nads an’ ass bare for all the city to see?"

As the young man was rubbed, he bit and sucked his lower lip, a delightful sight given how aroused he was clearly getting. He opened his eyes and sat up halfway on his elbows, "I'll take off anything you want except the goggles."

"Good. Do exactly that."

Dualscar climbed off of the hero, leaning back, eyeing him expectantly.

The Psionic shrugged his labcoat off, leaving it somewhat folded on the floor, but more fascinating was the formfitting black suit he wore underneath. He turned so his back was to Dualscar, showing how it unzipped from the back of his neck down to just above his ass. The young man himself seemed quite familiar with how it unzipped, seeing that he was flexible enough to unzip it without Dualscar's assistance; exposing inch after inch of his pale flesh. 

He turned somewhat on his knees, pulling his arms from the suit, his gloves still on. His arms were slender, but clearly toned from all of his activity. Marks and bruises were visible on his shoulders, down his arms; a couple even Dualscar knew that they came from his hand. 

Dualscar smirked, enjoying the show. A little shifting, and his member was exposed, chill in the night air. He stroked himself idly, "Keep goin’," he directed, his legs splayed, one knee drawn up and to the side, as he sat and watched his now and former nemesis strip for his amusement. 

The Psionic unzipped two zippers, one on the back of each calf, allowing him to peel off the rest of his suit. He wore a pair of tight, formfitting boxer-briefs underneath. He turned halfway clad only in his gloves, boots, and goggles, looking at Dualscar with half-lidded eyes. His face was pink and Dualscar could see how that blush reached halfway down his neck. The angles of his collar bones, his shoulder blades, and even his wrists were caught by the scant light, casting shadows upon the fair skin.

Dualscar gave himself a long, slow tug, well within the view of the Psionic, his body lit by the ambient light of the city, dim and washed out in the rain. He nodded his approval, "Not bad, Sparks; now let's see the rest come off. Keep your goggles if you got to but the rest has got to go...slowly."

He spun, eyebrows raised, "You want me completely...?" He stared at the older man's engorged cock curiously, subconsciously wetting his lips.

Dualscar chuckled, "I got no mind to see if your electricity can liven things up while I fuck you...this time. An’ it's not goin’ to be too easy to fuck you unless you want me rippin’ up those shorts...not that I'd be completely adverse. So either take ‘em off, or I'll leave you with shreds. Your call."

He followed his orders and carefully tugged his gloves off, one, and then the other, dropping them down on the pile with his labcoat and bodysuit. Soon after came his combat boots and his socks. He then laid back on the cold wet tile floor, pulling his boxers off. With his clothes off, he somehow looked even younger; exposed, bare, and vulnerable.

Dualscar let his eyes wander, studying his whole opponent. He noted the bruises and scars that he himself had left, as well as those left from the Psionic's other altercations. He noted the lean muscle and the sharp angles of his bones, the soft pale skin of his once mortal enemy, willingly bared and waiting for him. Waiting for his touch, waiting for his stain...this naive hero gladly and fully under his thrall. "Good. Crawl here, boy, show me how bad you want my cock in you."

The Psionic licked over his teeth and crawled just as Dualscar had said, eyes not quite looking at him as he came closer. The older man was so captivating, controlling him with his words so easily.

Dualscar beckoned him with come-hither fingers, stretching his legs out, "Closer still, Sparky, right in my lap. You get to see me lay hand to myself, now I think I deserve to see the same from you."

The Psionic straddled the man's thighs, feeling the fabric of his pants against his bare legs. He settled himself briefly, knowing better than to ask if he was going to harm him. Logic wasn't at the forefront of his mind at the moment, he simply wanted to feel him now. He stared at those hands, up his chest, up his neck to his face.

Dualscar released his grip on himself to wind his hand between the Psionic's legs, cupping and caressing the hero’s scrotum. "You heard me, lad. Get strokin’, I mean to see your needin’ face ‘fore I get balls-deep in you."

The young hero gasped, thighs tensing as he was gripped so suddenly. His hand immediately wrapped around his own cock, stroking himself as though he was alone. His fingers sought out the sensitive little spots he was used to pressing on in order to reach release, making him buck his hips. The Psionic's natural scent was something warm and salty, all the stronger for his getting wet in an already tight, restrictive costume.

Dualscar laid his hand on the Psionic's wrist, slowing him down, "Hey kid, cool it and go slow. I got no intention of lettin’ you off easily."

The Psionic leaned his head forward and glared through the colored glass of his lenses, baring his teeth slightly as his temper flared higher than his lust just for a moment. He spread his thighs a bit further in spite of his self-consciousness at exposing himself to his nemesis like this, "Evil fucking man..."

"This is what makes me evil? Hah, Sparky, I'm doin’ you a fuckin’ favor. You want this to last, don't you?" Dualscar licked his lips, grinning, forcing the hero to slow down and take his time. 

The Psionic twisted his hand, understanding that this was simply to give the older man a show. He wasn't exactly opposed; why would he be sprawled across his lap like this if he wasn't? He licked his lips lasciviously, staring right at the older man's eyes.

Dualscar smirked, reaching for a pouch on his belt. He knew this would come in handy... "Good. You're doin’ fine. Tell me how it feels, Sparky, sittin’ in your nemesis's lap, jackin’ off for his amusement."

The Psionic refused to answer, instead turning his head away and baring his teeth once more. There was no way he could answer that without surrendering his pride. His eyes darted back, staring at the older man's cock once again.

"Too good to open your lips an’ tell me, eh?" he sneered, pulling a bottle from his belt-pouch. While Dualscar had usually used this particular lubricant for loosening stuck grates and ducts, or for pouring behind himself on smooth surfaces while being pursued, it was safe for use in more recreational ways. "Fine. Find some other way t’excite me with that mouth a yours."

"You think it's safe to tell me to suck you off? Really?" A tiny smirk grew on the hero’s lips, "You think I won't bite you?"

Dualscar gestured down to his standing but neglected cock, as he set the lube bottle aside, within easy reach. "Don’t much matter to me, but let's see what you can do to get me goin’. I'm interested all right, but neither a us is goin’ to settle for just interested, eh?"

In a flush of bravado, The Psionic glared and inched closer, grabbing their cocks together and giving a good long rub. He had underestimated just how much that sensation would make him cry out, a pathetic, lilting sound that caused him to melt against Dualscar's body. He panted softly, happening to notice how even erect, Dualscar had at least an inch on him.

Dualscar held the falling hero to himself, purring into his ear, "That's it, boy, give in to it. All that charmin’ spite, all that heroic indignation, forget it. Just give in to the lust an’ the want an’ the need."

At those words, The Psionic's cry softened into a soft mewl, bucking his hips back into Dualscar's. He actually seemed to be listening to him; how could he not? After all the voice was in his ear, inside his head, putting him through this glorious hell. A drop of precome dripped down, causing a tiny damp patch between their cocks.

"That's it...good boy, Sparks. You want me now? You need me? I'll fuck you good, but you can't have shit until you say it."

His chest shuddered, Dualscar couldn't see his face as The Psionic hid his face beside his, lips close to his ear as he breathed out, "Oh god I fucking want you, please... please do it..."

Yet another small, sexy victory. Dualscar nipped at the Psionic's ear, "Good boy. Back up an’ get on all fours, an’ I'll give you what you're askin’ for."

The Psionic was only too glad to get off and away from that uncomfortable intimacy with the older man. He knelt down, looking cautiously over his shoulder for just a second before looking at the floor directly beneath him.

Dualscar took his sweet time, flipping the bottle open with his thumb, directing a thin stream of lube across his fingers and slicking them up. "You had your ass fucked before, Sparks?"

He shook his head timidly, biting down on his lip and not quite knowing what to expect.

Dualscar shifted to his knees, probing a slicked finger between the Psionic's cheeks, finding his opening and pressing against it, "Nothin’? No fingers, no toys, no cocks?"

The intimate questions only served to embarrass him further, any bravado he ever had diminished just by his tucking his knees together just a few centimeters. A soft mumble followed by, "Couple fingers..." was heard.

The villain smirked, laying one hand across the hero's back, holding him in place, "Couple fingers, eh? I shouldn't have much work to do, then..." A quick push, and two fingers were inside the hero's ass, "...now should I?"

At the quick penetration, the young hero tensed up, the top half of his back arching just a bit as he cried out. He shook his head slightly, trying to adjust and inadvertently showing half of his face.

Dualscar pumped his fingers lightly, testing him, teasing him. "You like that, don't you? You'd ride my fingers good if I let you."

He bit down on his lip, dropping his head forward, forehead glistening with sweat before he gasped out quietly again, "Oh fuck, Dualscar..."

"Y’want more? You want my big, nasty, villainous cock in your pure, chaste little ass? That it?" he chuckled, already pulling his fingers back, and slicking up his member.

His face was bright red as he ducked his head forward, completely hidden as he whimpered wordlessly. It was quiet enough to hear his nails scratching against the ground.

Dualscar knelt behind the Psionic, his tip just pressing against his entrance. He reached forward, grabbing the hero by the hair and yanking his head back, "I asked a question, lad. You want my big, thick, evil cock in your sweet little do-gooder ass?"

He screamed out at the painful thrill of having his hair pulled, "God yes fucking yes do it!"

Dualscar laid his other hand on the Psionic's hip, steadying him as he pushed in, invading, violating the willing hero. He was neither gentle nor kind, nor especially hateful, but simply enjoyed the twin feelings of the hero's sweet, tight ass around his cock, and the knowledge that he had his nemesis beneath him, begging for his dick. "Oh, what a sweet ass you have, my li’l justice slut."

The Psionic's entrance tightened at the initial penetration, he seemed to be actively trying to open up, grunting and gasping beneath the older man. At those wicked words, the young hero's cock jumped as he groaned aloud, writhing and squirming, nails scraping at the ground once more.

"What's that, li’l slut? You like it when I call you that?" he asked, tone mocking, as he pushed further inside the hero. Fuck, but he felt good inside, tight as a miser's purse-strings. He buried deep inside the Psionic, beginning to shift and fuck him proper. 

The Psionic let out another long, lilting cry, shoulder blades pronounced as he gasped for breath. Soft sounds were being fucked out of him with each inward thrust, "Oh fucking god Dualscar... hnnng... damn..." 

"That's right, I am a fuckin’ god. I am now your fuckin’ god, you got that, li’l hero?" Dualscar worked his hands across the thin back of the hero, letting his fingers intimately know the creases beside his shoulder blades, the wide swaths of his lumbar, the bony firmness over his ribs, and the slight softness to the Psionic's ass.

The filthy words only made the Psionic’s cock harder, prompted him to push back into the rough pounding his ass was taking as well as that firm hand caressing him. It was impressive how high the kid's pain tolerance was; it wasn't surprising given how many blows he could take in a fight. It took little prompting for his ass to swallow up Dualscar's cock. He refused to acknowledge those words aside from another duck of his head, the sound of his goggles loosening was heard as well, but only for a second.

Dualscar met no resistance, getting hilt-deep in the hero's ass. Another tug to the Psionic's hair brought his head back up, and although Dualscar might not be able to see his face, he imagined he had the man's attention. "Answer me while I'm fuckin' you, kid. You like my dirty stick poundin’ you? You like how your ass is full a me? You like how your truest, finest enemy is ridin’ your ass an’ making you his slutty li’l bitch?" Another sharp pull, "Answer me, bitchboy."

His heart dropped in fear as his goggles were nearly off his eyes as his head was jerked back. In his efforts to right them, one eye was uncovered while he lost balance and was only kept upright by the hand in his hair, "Yes I fucking love it! Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck, god....!" He screamed out, another drop of precome beading at the tip of his neglected cock, but he paid it little heed.

Dualscar sped up, giving the slender man no mercy as he wailed away inside him, "Then go ahead, you can tug yourself off because I say you can, you got that? Give that too-good dick a yours what for. Tug yourself while I fuck you hard, an’ keep callin’ my name, an’ keep callin’ me your fuckin’ god."

The Psionic yanked his goggles back in place clumsily before grabbing ahold of his cock and stroking at himself rapidly. The elbow on the ground holding his weight was getting scratched up pretty badly, but it didn't matter as long as he felt that huge cock inside him. His cries were mostly wordless, incoherent, but had the pure, hopeless keen of one who had given himself over to darkness.

The villain released the Psionic's hair, letting his nails scratch down the Psionic's back, past the shoulder blade, down the spine, across to the hip. Dualscar gripped both hips tightly, pulling the hero into each inward thrust. He could forgive the lack of proper adulation this time, and he growled and fucked and swore.

So close, so close, The Psionic's pants grew shorter and shorter, his body tensing before he cried out, "fuck me fuck me oh god Dualscar fuck me it's so good, it's so good I... AAH!" He released in a few quick, but strong spurts against the floor, his body clearly having quite an intense orgasm. The young man didn't seem to know how to handle it, had he ever come that hard before?

Dualscar did not cease, he did not slow, he did not take time to savor the hero's lascivious cries, but merely pounded, harder, deeper, abusing the poor hero under him, more than willing to wreck him and split him in two if it would take that. He grunted and growled, holding the hero down, although the Psionic had neither motive nor inclination to be anywhere besides where he was at present, being fucked so thoroughly by his one true archrival.

The rough, punishing pace jolted The Psionic's weakened, spent body; milking and pushing his seed out into the puddle already beneath him. He did as best as he could to hold himself in place, pushing himself up onto his hands, but found himself still screaming out uncontrollably, craving the other man's own release, "Dualscar damn fuck oh my fucking god ah, AH, ow, ah...!"

"Ahh, good li’l bitch, that's it...spill all over that floor--fuck!--leave your dirty li’l mark, an’ work for me. Move your hips, moan for me, ride my cock despite havin’ nothin’ left to spend. Ahhhn, That's it, you li’l whore of justice, you hero slut. My li’l hero slut. Mine, all mine. Yes...fuck yess...."

Though he had stopped doing more than riding out his thrusts, at his orders the young man rolled his hips back with his head thrown back as well. He couldn't stop himself, couldn't stop the words coming out of him in the heat of the moment, "Oh fucking yes sir fuck me god, make me work for it oh god, ow ow ow... AH! fuck me!"

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK! You delicious li’l SLUT--" Dualscar roared, reaching forward and pulling the Psionic's hair back once more, burying his cock in the hero, spurting deep into him.

It was so fucking debauched to be used like that; the Psionic hadn't expected the older man to come inside his body, but the heat and pulse of his throbbing cock caused him to cry out Dualscar's name once more out of sheer shock. His ass was still tight and scorching hot around Dualscar's cock, greedily taking all of the seed it was fed. The hero's face was completely consumed with lust and satisfaction, with no room just yet for regret or fear.

Dualscar allowed one or two little pumps, before withdrawing, sighing contentedly and releasing the Psionic's hair. "Good slut...good li’l hero slut..." He rocked back, sitting on his ankles, feeling relaxed and satisfied and above all victorious.

The Psionic fell forward onto his side, curling around the stain he had left, panting and coming down off his endorphin high. His eyes remained shut behind the goggles, utterly defenseless with absolutely no guard up. Such a child.

Dualscar chuckled and shook his head as he stuffed himself back into his leggings. "You'll never make it in this business, Sparky. Mindfang’d slit your throat where you lay." 

The Psionic's face twisted distastefully, eyes still shut, "Like I'd let that crazy bitch anywhere near-"

Dualscar was then suddenly directly above the hero, pinning him, eyes seeming to pierce his goggles. "We will fight again, boy, but I figure you've earned your rest."

His eyes opened sharply as Dualscar pressed his lips to his, licking lightly. The hero tensed, some vestige of instinct telling him to thrust his hand up, to stop his foe from overpowering him yet again, but he could not; he could only surrender into the kiss. 

Dualscar could feel a light thrumming under the Psionic’s skin, static in his veins, inside his body as he still wound down from how hard he was taken. He drew away, "Until our next fight, Sparky..." and he climbed out the window and was gone. 

It was when he was finally alone that everything crashed down around him. What had he done? He really just fucked his nemesis? Willingly? Screaming everything the evil man had wanted him to? He ground his teeth and tore his goggles off, rubbing at his eyes for a few moments and blinking before pulling his clothes back on as fast as he possibly could. He still tasted him, could feel him, as though the energy inside him retained his memories in place of his actual mind. 

What the hell was he going to do now? 

He ran his hands in his hair and slid his goggles back on. He tried to stand up, against the protests of his aching ass and wretched knees. He hissed and, incapable of running, he walked to the nearest exit he was capable of taking, and fled into the night.


	9. 34 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck and desire burns between rivals.

Darkness lay thick across the city, flickering streetlamps struggled in vain against the night. 

Three figures clad in blue made their regular rounds throughout the edges of the city. They didn't seem especially hardboiled except for one, who was silent. The other two spoke quietly in none-too-serious tones. One of the chattier ones stopped and looked around, turning his head from side to side.

Here in the deep of the city, among the abandoned and the dilapidated Dualscar laid in wait.

He idly toyed with his favorite weapon, his darling Captain's Daughter, twirling her in his hands and hearing the rustle of her lashes against one another. Tonight, he had business on his mind. Oh, nothing so petty as a theft, no small prize, tonight was for his personal satisfaction: He had not forgiven Mindfang for disrupting his heist the week before, nor had he a mind to. He could not take her on directly, not just yet, but he could be a thorn in her side yet.

Dualscar watched them approach from his alcove, shrouded in shadow, and he recognized the quiet figure; one of Mindfang's minions, who had been helped disrupt Dualscar's evening more than once. They had fallen for his trap! The fools had taken the bait, a supposed standard drug delivery, and now they were alone in an alleyway with no escape except through him, or further down the alley to a maze of dead ends.

He rushed from the shadows, striking a lightning-quick blow to one of the grunts' knees with the Captain's Daughter, rending cloth and felling him, and rounded on the second, the curious one, with a punch to the jaw and clocked him out.

Caught off-guard, the other two were delayed for only a couple seconds in equipping their weaponry. Dualscar was shot with an acidic substance that clung to his sleeve, not seriously injuring him, but burning the fabric, a suitable distraction. When the more experienced lackey saw that the spray which was supposed to burn Dualscar's flesh had failed, he took off running in the other direction, leaving behind the others.

Dualscar delivered a blow to the remaining underling's solar plexus, another to the groin, and one last one to the nose, effectively incapacitating him. He then took off after the escaping grunt, howling, "You ain't gettin' away from me, bucko! You're mine now!"

Suddenly there was no noise at all except for the sound of Dualscar's footsteps. When he got close to the mouth of the entrance, he saw that the grunt laid on the ground, unconscious. There was no sign of any interference except for the scent of singed hair in the air nearby.

Dualscar sneered, and walked over, prodding the grunt with his foot. He squatted down, calling out, "That you, Sparky? Or we got another livin' taser wanderin' 'round this city?"

At the lip of the entrance, The Psionic had been pressed to the brick wall facing the street. He turned from where he stood, now standing inside the alleyway, staring down at Dualscar.

"Present."

Dualscar nodded at him in greeting, and stood up. "Evenin'."

He then delivered a swift kick to the unconscious grunt's ribs and spat on him, before turning to face the Psionic. He gestured idly to the body, "Asshole ruined my coat."

The Psionic winced just slightly at the rough treatment of the mook, "Of course he did. I recall when I did something similar."

Dualscar chuckled, "So what brings you out on a night like this, eh Psi? I ain't done a thing but rough up some a Mindfang's goons a mite. I got a notion you ain't here to take me in."

"I have my own dissent with Mindfang, any chance I get to fuck up her night, I take it," His eyes darted from the grunt back up to Dualscar, "Psychics tend to not get along."

"Then you'll be glad to know I got two more back there for ya, who ain't goin’ to trouble you further. Nothin' lethal, mind, but they ain't about to be much good to anybody for a spell."

The Psionic flashed a mirthful smirk for a second, "They unconscious?"

"Ought to be, I left 'em..." he turned, spying one shakily clambering to his feet. "Hold that thought, we got one with spunk." He gave the Captain's Daughter a flick and took off wind-quick down the alley, and barreled into the standing lunk, knocking him over, before lashing at him thrice and kicking him in the head.

He called back down, "Okay, NOW they're all out."

"Excellent." The Psionic called back, grabbing the grunt's hands and dragging him back down the alleyway to join his comatose brethren, "You sure you don't need me shocking any of them? After all, you seem to have left them mostly in one piece." His words were light and facetious, surprised more than anything at how brutalized the pair were.

"Only if you're in the mood." Dualscar grabbed some rope from the alcove where he had laid in wait. "Here, you want credit for this lot? Three a Mindfang's crew," he tossed the Psionic a length of rope, "Pretty li'l present for the cops, don't you think? I'll even help you wrap 'em."

The young man's eyebrow arched, this seemed too good to be true, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He began tightly binding one of the men, "That depends, am I going to owe you a heist in the near future?"

"Hmmm, temptin'..." Dualscar mused, as he bound one of the lackeys. "But I got somethin' a li'l more...immediate in mind. Somethin' I know you don't mind givin' up," he grinned, winking at the Psionic, who got that implication right away.

He ducked his head down, avoiding Dualscar’s eyes and continuing to tie his prisoner as knots of his own formed inside his gut.

Dualscar chuckled, tying up the last grunt. "Sounds like fair compensation, don't it?" He stood up and sneered down at the three bound criminals, "Not that there ain't a certain joy in knowin' this'll be grit in Mindfang's panties, but fair's fair, ain't it, Psi?"

The young man deflected the question, instead beginning to drag the man he'd bound out towards the street, "Down the road, right?"

Dualscar dragged the other two, one with each hand, down after the Psionic. "Yeah, that's the closest station. I'll leave 'em on the curb though, I got no mind to get to settin’ foot in there m'self." He sneered, "But you? You ain't agreed yet. What's keepin' me from just leavin' them here for you to drag around?"

"Last I checked she turned you into some sort of banshee over a failed heist, didn't she? You have just as much incentive to turn them in."

"No, I got incentive to knock the shit out a them, an' I did. I could a gotten that last one, too, an' it may even a been more personally satisfyin'."

"You must want me bad if you're twisting my arm this much for it," the Psionic grumbled. 

"I'm willin' to trade one satisfaction for another. An' it ain't like you didn' enjoy the last go; we both know you loved every fuckin' second of it," Dualscar replied, smugly.

Ok, no. No. He couldn't be getting hard while dragging an unconscious body. That would be just too awkward. The Psionic swallowed with a nod, hoping that would be enough for the villain to see.

Dualscar spotted the nod, and smirked, "An' seein' as I'm so magnanimous I'm not only handin' over three a Mindfang's crew as trophies on your wall, but I'm riskin' capture just helpin' you get these asswipes to the authorities, you owe me, boy, an' you owe me good."

 _Dammit Psi, focus on the fact you're dragging a body. Not that he wants you, not that he wants your body, not that he's helping you for a good purpose…_ Quietly, the Psionic spoke, "All right then."

"Aces. Stop here a tick," he said as they turned the corner, half a block from the small station. Dualscar surveyed the street as he dropped the two felons. _No one around. Good._ "Just a sec, gotta make sure the coast is clear."

He peeked around the corner, then turned to the Psionic, scowling. "Security cameras. This is as far as I go. Why don' you go an' let 'em know you got these ruffians, an' I'll get myself hid for a spell, 'fore we adjourn to somewhere a mite more private?"

The Psionic nodded and dropped the other guy with the two Dualscar had. His stare lingered on the older man's face for a second before taking off running.

Dualscar watched after the Psionic only briefly before rifling through the mooks' pockets, lifting any money or valuables they had on them and replacing the wallets. He dashed around a corner and watched, safely hidden from view in the pervasive night.

About five minutes later, two cop cars came, the Psionic nowhere to be seen. He had simply left a note, being sure to stay out of sight, having had no desire to deal with whoever might insist on knowing the vigilante’s identity. 

With the men apprehended, the slender hero took off back to where his encounter had begun. He didn't want to seem so blatantly eager but his body refused to listen, instead going against his whims. Electricity buzzed beneath his skin as he looked about, trying to bring moisture back into his mouth from the amount of running he had been doing.

Dualscar waited in the shadows of the alley, cozy in his little hiding spot, pack on his shoulder. He stepped forward and whistled, "Hey, boy. Business all concluded?"

At the sound, The Psiconic jumped defensive for a second before his brain caught up with his body. He nodded, walking back to Dualscar.

"Good," Dualscar strode towards the Psionic. "Now, to render payment. I know a place, nice an' isolated...not too far, though, you look out a breath an' it wouldn' do to wreck you before I even get my fun." He turned and led down the alley, "This way."

"I'm not out of breath!” the hero exclaimed, lips twisted in an involuntary sneer. At least, as close to a sneer as the young, healthy, fearless hero could get. Regardless, he followed. Dualscar seemed to not be very rushed tonight. _Had he no objective aside from revenge?_ The anxious heat in the Psionic’s blood made the villain’s take-or-leave posturing seem all the more infuriating.

"Oh, no? You up for a run then, boy?"

“Of course.” He was loathe to admit that Dualscar was equally matched or stronger than him in nearly every aspect save for the Gemini Gift, but he was going to fight him every step of the way.

Dualscar clipped his pack around his shoulders, "Then try to keep up." He took to his heels, racing down the alley, laughing.

The Psionic glared and ran after him, easily catching up to him. He stayed just behind him since; after all, he was leading. The man might have had strength on his side, but The Psionic had a great deal of speed in his wiry frame.

Dualscar set a course for beyond the boundaries of the living city, on towards the Old Town.

Onwards, past buildings and abandoned offices, over broken sidewalks and old pavement, cracked and lifted where roots of saplings planted years past had grown great and staked claim in the name of nature once more. He ran, hero at his heels, through these vestiges of the march of human progress; beautiful in its eerie way in the sunlight hours, but the shroud of night transformed the Old Town into a veritable playground for those who feared not to tread. 

He slowed as he spied the old chain-link fence, rusted in patches, that marked the territory between city and an old lot of grass and trees. Once a row of tenements, some decades back the city had tried to convert it back into a park, one last bastion of natural life against the black and smoke of the city.

Dualscar climbed the fence with little effort, jumping down over the other side. "This way, boy. None comes here, an' we'll be away from pryin' eyes."

The Psionic climbed the fence and dropped down, trying to hide how he was indeed a bit winded from the run. He leaned against the fence, fingers gripping the links. He licked his lips before lifting his head to eye the other man.

Dualscar grabbed the fence to either side of the Psionic, trapping him. "Think this'll do, Sparky? Only you an' me, no one to hear your li'l voice callin' out for me?"

The hero’s face burned brightly as he pressed back on reflex, as if trying to recoil back against the fence just a bit, "I-I... here?" Despite the distance back to civilization, the thought of of being so thoroughly taken in the open air was foreign and, truth told, still an embarrassing prospect. He couldn't tell if Dualscar could see his eyes behind his goggles, but they were focused on his wicked, filthy mouth.

"You was hopin' for somethin' fancier? Maybe another dilapidated warehouse?" he purred, licking his lips, "Or was you hopin' for somethin' more populated? Maybe you want the whole a the city knowin' you're gettin' your ass tore apart by one a the criminal underworld's finest?"

The Psionic hoped that darkness and goggles hid the heat of his cheeks as he watched that tongue, feeling himself growing hard again. He bit his lip and turned his head away, eyes shut as he mumbled, "No- no, stop it..."

Dualscar laughed, "I ain't even touched you yet, boy, an' you're meltin' on me." His eyes flicked down, "Now, you can't tell me that's a lie down there, can you?"

He shook his head no, a tiny jolt of electricity popping from his left hand. He jumped, opening his eyes once again and looking up at the other man. He was frightening. In so many aspects he was as strong as he was terrifying, the mysterious air that surrounded him only served to make him hotter; make his blood rush faster. He was frightening, and more than that, he was approaching him with the slow, sturdy stalk of a snake to a cornered mouse.

Dualscar smirked, "For all your truth an' honesty shit, I gotta say that this--" he cupped the stiff bulge in the Psionic's costume as he pinned him to the fence, "--is the most honest thing about you, hero."

"Si- D-Dualscar!" He rocked his hips up into that touch, lamenting silently how he almost called him 'sir' of all things. _Damn damn DAMN,_ it felt so good though, he wanted more... His breath shuddered, bringing an arm up to wrap around Dualscar's neck to tug him closer.

Dualscar obliged, rewarding the hero with a kiss with lips as soft as peaches. He worked his thigh between the Psionic's legs, once more grasping the fence and trapping him, his own stiffness pressed into the Psionic's hip.

Both of The Psionic's arms came up around the older man's neck, kissing back as best as he was able; his shame and logic slipping away. He let himself be pushed back up against the fence, cock growing harder as he had something to brace himself against. He panted against Dualscar's mouth, their chests pressing together; the younger man's lips brushing intimately against his.

Dualscar ground himself against the Psionic, pinning him and sucking on his lower lip. He rolled his hips, himself stiff and eager as he worked one hand through the Psionic's hair.

The Psionic made such a sweet little whimper in the back of his throat, continuing to rub up against the older man's body. He was growing more excited by the villain’s strength and assuredness, despite not wanting to trust him in the slightest, but he needed to feel more of his flesh. He pulled his own gloves off, dropping them on the ground behind Dualscar.

Dualscar dove in for another kiss, nipping at the Psionic's lips, as he slipped his coat from his shoulders and let it pool on the ground. He then turned his attention to relieving the Psionic of his labcoat.

The Psionic inhaled the scent that could only be Dualscar--no one else had his particular mix of leather and musk--before opening his eyes and requesting firmly, "Take your gloves off..." 

Dualscar licked the Psionic's neck, teasing, "Say please."

Without hesitation, the hero let his hips roll up once more, leaning his head back and moaning, "Please!"

"Good boy." He released the Psionic long enough to strip his gloves away, and pulled his light linen shirt over his head, his lean and muscular torso flexing and stretching. 

The Psionic stared at the man's body, eyes working down and then back up, lips parted and panting lightly. Part of him wished he could see him clearly, directly, without the barrier of his goggles-- what a foolish thought for a hero to even entertain! Regardless, he wondered briefly at what it would be like, masks off…His nails dug into the man's back, pulling him close and biting the base of his neck, sucking roughly with a low growl in his throat.

Dualscar hissed, arching his neck, "Fuck, boy, you're needin' bad, ain't you?"

The sound of Dualscar in pain like that gave The Psionic a delicious rush, growling more ferociously as he bit once again upon another patch of skin, sucking, absorbing the taste and scent of the man's body. He finally got his chance to feel him and he couldn't get enough.

Dualscar growled as he gripped the Psionic's hair, and he could feel the vibrations through Dualscar's throat. "Dirty li'l hero, ain't you?"

The Psionic ran his tongue up the side of man's throat, murmuring just beneath his ear, "I want you, I want you so fucking badly..." He ducked his head down and bit at the man's collar bone, cock throbbing in his costume in anticipation.

"Nnngh...showin' your true nature at last...I like it." Dualscar bucked against the Psionic, his own arousal more than apparent, as he gripped the hero's hair and neck. "You like the taste a me, eh? You want this body a mine?"

"Yes, yes, YES!" The Psionic practically snarled into the man's ear, biting at his throat with another roll of his hips. He tilted his head just slightly, gauging the man's reaction, looking him in the eye.

Dualscar took the opening and attacked the Psionic's neck, licking and sucking and nibbling, pressing against the hero, pausing only once to give a simple order.

"Strip."

Eyes on Dualscar the entire time, The Psionic reached behind him and easily undid the zipper down his back, as well as the ones on the backs of his legs, and he peeled off his costume. His pale flesh was exposed, shadows forming in the dips and juts of bone about his supple body.

Dualscar watched, closing back in on the hero, taking him into his arms, his own bare chest pressed against the Psionic's. "My favorite kind a hero: sweet an' defenseless an' hard." He worked his fingers down, past his shoulder blades, past the trapezius and exploring the taught muscles of his back, working down, down past his waist, finally gripping and kneading the Psionic's asscheeks. "You want my cock in you. You want it bad, an' you're goin' to get it."

The Psionic's arms wrapped around Dualscar's neck, tugging him close. The younger man made a soft little keening sound with a hiss, relishing the shared heat from where their bodies met. Goosebumps rose upon his flesh, not from the cold, but from the lines of heat from Dualscar's fingers. He pushed his hips forward, grinning wickedly from the grip on his ass, "Fuck yes..."

Fingers dipped between the Psionic's cheeks, just over his hole, "This sweet, tight li'l hero ass. It's just screamin' to get ravaged to fuck an' back, ain't it? You need it more'n anythin'..." Dualscar pulled away from the Psionic's arms, turning him to face the fence. He pressed himself to the Psionic's back, as he pulled his trusty lubricant from his pocket.

The hero held onto the fence, panting softly, the metal squeaking under his grip. He looked back over his shoulder as best as he could, spreading his legs.

Dualscar lubed his fingers and wedged his hand between the hero's cheeks, swirling his fingers around his hole, "You want this? You want my fingers ticklin' you inside before we hit the main course?

Beyond words at that point, The Psionic simply thrust his hips back and moaned wantonly. He hissed and squirmed where he stood, head thrown back as he sought out the spot that would make fire erupt further within him.

Dualscar bit the Psionic's shoulder as he pressed two fingers deep into him. He sucked the wound, pressing himself to the Psionic's side.

The slow burn worked its way through him, causing him to hiss and whimper. He let his head fall against the fence, struggling to keep himself spread open, back rising and falling with the effort, "Fuck, oh my god fuck..."

Dualscar growled and nipped at the Psionic's ear, voice deep and dirty as lake-sludge, as he finger-fucked him. "That's it, take it, hero. I'm goin’ to fuck you so good, you're liable to bite straight through this fence. I'm goin’ to fuck you so hard, when you come, you'll shoot your spunk a good six feet, you hear me? You'll scream so loud the whole fuckin' city hears it, an' everyone'll know you sold your soul for a good fuck. Oh, but this fuck, it's goin’ to be worth it, Sparky, it's goin’ to be _so_ worth it."

He tried to pull his head away from the awful words he was being fed, but wasn't able, was forced to listen to such degrading filth that only served to make him grow harder, make him moan with the perversity of it. He gripped the metal tighter, gasping for air, "Evil fucking son of a bitch..."

"An' you can't fuckin' get ENOUGH," was the only reply, as Dualscar withdrew his fingers and pulled away. He denied the Psionic contact long enough to discard his belt and loosen his pants, slipping them down enough to free his erection. He slicked up his shaft and lined himself up, a light slap to the Psionic's hip being the only warning before Dualscar took him, roughly, against the cold chain fence.

The Psionic's eyes snapped open, gasping once more and panting. The metal squeaked and creaked beneath his fingers. Dualscar was too big too big... he bit his lip, leaving deep imprints as he held back moans and whimpering behind his sealed lips, grunting, tightly squeezing the man's cock inside him.

"This ain't more'n you can handle, boy,” Dualscar purred, lips just by his ear. “We both remember how sweet you liked it last time. Give yourself to the pleasure that only I can bring you." 

Those words served to loosen him, perhaps even more than the lubricant could. His breath was shuddering in his ribcage; feeling that cock deep inside him was so exquisitely wrong and he needed more, needed it badly.

Dualscar shifted, arms around the Psionic, hands feeling his chest, as he began to buck his hips. The Psionic was slick and tight and perfect, each ragged breath he pulled was a victory.

After the first time, The Psionic didn't realize that the only thing he wanted more than to be fucked so roughly- like a toy, was to be touched so possessively while violated. 

_Oh fuck,_ Dualscar was so deep inside him; the younger wailed as he felt his sweet spot brushed against. He wanted it again! He pushed back hard, gasping out once more, "Dualscar!"

"Good boy, cry out my name, little hero bitch. Tell the world who owns your ass." Dualscar bucked again, working at the Psionic's prostate, his hands working down to the hero's hips, his fingers finding purchase on the Psionic's hip bones as he gripped, hard, pulling him in rhythm to drive in deeper.

"Right there right ther-aaaAAH...!" He allowed himself to be pulled back, visualizing the sight of those hands on his hips. How must he look, not only being taken so brutally by his nemesis, but calling out for more? Sweat began to drip down from the back of his hairline, down his neck and back, "Oh my fucking god Dualscar! Fuck _yes_...!"

Dualscar pummeled the Psionic's ass, fucking him hard against the fence, feeling the cold, creaking metal against his knuckles as he wailed away desperately, "Good little heroic whoreson, good little fucktoy. Scream for me, scream for the one that bests you."

He began to shake, his knees going weak, he pushed himself up, all of his weight against his hands as he throbbed, unable to touch himself, to think, to focus, but having no need to. He gasped and writhed, his voice seeping out, darker, more lasciviously each time, a long, wordless moan coming from him. He began to tense, precome forming at the head of his cock.

Dualscar dug his fingers into the hero's flesh, nails making bare marks as he grunted and bucked, nearing his own finish, "Spit your spunk, hero, an' know it's because _I_ fuckin' made you do it."

The Psionic threw his head back and cried out louder than before, driven by the wicked words, the hard thrusts, his sheer, pitch black lust for the evil man. A thrumming sensation shot through his wrists as a completely unconsciously driven bolt of his electricity shot out of both wrists as he came. The fence itself served as a pathway for the illumination, streaking nearly ten feet in both directions before the spurts diminished. His head dropped forward as he tried to catch his breath, still being mercilessly pounded by his nemesis.

Refusing to be distracted, Dualscar peaked with a harsh howl, gripping and driving almost impossibly deep, pumping and shooting into the Psionic's ravaged ass. "Ffffffffffuck..." The Psionic felt him shoot off, causing him to shake the fence just slightly, the metal creaking once more under his fingers as he enjoyed the wicked, throbbing sensation of that cock inside him. He grinned exhaustedly, without shame for a few minutes as he relished the feeling.

Dualscar relaxed against the Psionic's back, breathing heavily, his hands releasing his hips and dropping to his thighs. "Nice light show, Sparky."

"I can never tell when it does that... about half the time when I come it happens..." His voice was rough and quiet, his forehead pressed to the fence, trying to keep himself upright.

"Kinky."

Dualscar pulled from his willing conquest, moving to his side, and leaning back against the fence, not yet bothering to put himself back in his pants, the cold metal and the smell of ozone sharp enough to seep into his satisfied senses.

The Psionic turned just enough to stare at the man; eyes drifting from his halfhard cock to his euphoric face. He hadn't seen the man when he was exhausted, when he was anything but cool and collected; the sight was rather satisfying. Even more satisfying was the fact that he had done it to him. He smirked and withdrew his shorts from the ground, wiping himself mostly clean.

Dualscar gripped the fence and stretched forward. "Ah, now that's livin', good thing you ain’t like most heroes."

The Psionic’s head jerked up once more in question, “What?”

Dualscar shifted himself back into his pants and re-equipped his belt. "Because heroes are notorious for simple thinkin'," he said, picking up his shirt and shaking it out, slipping it back over his shoulders, "Got no mind for dealin' with the complexities a anyone outside a the straight an' narrow. Outside a the borin'."

The Psionic wrestled himself back into his tight costume, zipping everything but the long zipper up his back. At that last statement, he didn't work the zipper up yet, "Why?" The question wasn't sarcastic or malicious, merely curious.

Dualscar shuffled back into his coat, finally pulling his gloves back on. "Typical heroes don't see people as people, they see sheep, they see saviors, an' they see scum. The saviors protect the sheep from the scum, an' that's all there is in the world; no middle ground, no gray, no understandin' a humanity, an' no room for movement but downwards. A body slips, an' he becomes scum, an' you lot do your bit an' make him pay." He paused, passing the Psionic his gloves with a smirk, "You, though? There's hope for you yet."

Unsure of how to respond, exactly, The Psionic kept his mouth shut, simply holding onto his gloves and staring thoughtfully at Dualscar. After a moment he tore his eyes away to zip himself up, only by the graces of unusual flexibility.

Dualscar chuckled, "There, an' that's all the pontificatin' I got for the night." He slung his pack back around his shoulders. "See you, Sparks. Next time, you bring the lube."

The Psionic’s little serenity bubble burst as the implications registered. A tiny jolt of sparks came out of his left hand, quickly quashed by him shoving his glove back on. 

Dualscar easily climbed the fence and, with a quick look behind him and a smirk, he left his little haven, his abandoned oasis, his feet swiftly taking him back towards the noise and the light of civilization once more.

When he was gone, The Psionic felt a strange, twisted feeling writhe about his gut. Guilt? Maybe. Longing? _Oh God, please no..._ He shut his eyes and sat gingerly against the fence, running a hand through his hair.


End file.
